NITY 


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THE    SECOND    OPPORTUNITY 

OF 

MR.  STAPLEHURST 
n  movei 


BY  W.  PETT   RIDGE 

AUTHOR   OF    "A   CLEVER   WIFE" 


NEW   YORK 

HARPER    &    BROTHERS    PUBLISHERS 
1896 


BY   THE   SAME   AUTHOR. 


A  CLEVER  WIFE.   A  Novel.   Post  8vo,  Cloth,  $1  25. 

An  entertaining  novel.—  Pall  Mall  Gazette,  London. 

Clever  and  humorous. — M^orld,  London. 

The  author  writes  well,  and  the  book  is  interesting  right 
through. — London  Daily  Chronicle. 

A  brightly  written  and  entertaining  story. — Scotsman, 
Edinburgh. 

PUBLISHED  BY  HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  NEW  YORK. 


Copyright,  1896,  by  HARPER  &  BROTHERS. 

All  rights  reserved. 


THE   SECOND  OPPORTUNITY  OF 
MR.  STAPLEHURST 


THE    SECOND    OPPORTUNITY    OF 
MR.    STAPLEHURST 

CHAPTER  I 

THE  Nomadic  Club  was  holding  its  monthly 
dinner,  and  the  dinner  had  reached  that  happy 
moment  when  dessert  arrives.  Quite  one-half  of 
the  men  in  this  world  look  upon  the  eating  of 
a  long  dinner  as  a  tiresome  crime,  and  nearly 
every-body  at  the  four  long  tables  was  content  to 
see  nuts  on  the  table.  The  Nomadic  Club  had 
no  home  (which  was  right  and  appropriate  on  the 
part  of  Nomads);  it  existed  only  for  the  pur- 
pose of  dining  once  a  month. 

To  this  feast  it  was  its  cunning  habit  to  invite 
as  guest  of  the  club  the  most  prominent  man  it 
could  catch,  and  extort  from  this  guest  a  speech. 

"  Members  of  the  Nomadic  Club,  you  may 
smoke  !  " 

The  members  edged  their  chairs  slightly  back 


from  the  tables,  and  cigars  and  cigarettes  and 
pipes  came  out.  The  youngest  members  smoked 
pipes  under  the  impression  that  it  made  them 
look  Bohemian. 

"Look    here,     Staplehurst,"     whispered    the 
Chair,   "I'll  propose   the  Queen  first,  and  then  , 
after    a    bit     I'll     propose     your     health,    and 
then " 

"My  dear  fellow,"  said  the  Guest  of  the 
Evening,  with  much  fervor,  "if  I  have  any 
influence  with  the  gods,  some  happy  accident 
will  intervene  to  prevent  you.  I  rather  fancy 
a  thunderbolt  will  come  through  the  ceiling  and 
knock  you  over,  but  I'm  not  sure  about  the  de- 
tails. I  had  no  idea  that  a  speech  was  indis- 
pensable." 

"  For  a  man  who  has  written  the  big  book  of 
the  year,"  said  the  Chair,  "you  are  an  uncon- 
scionably stupid  person,  Staplehurst.  Why,  this 
ought  to  be  the  proudest  moment  of  your  life! 
If  any  one  thing  represents  Fame,  this  does. 
Here  are  you,  invited  by  a  body  of  representa- 
tive men  in  art  and  literature  and  what  not " 

"What  not  is  good." 

"And  yet  you  aren't  happy.  Why,  upon  my 
word,  Staplehurst — do  you  want  a  light  ? — upon 


my  word,  I  believe  you're  one  of  the  men  who 
don't  know  when  they're  really  well  off." 

Gilbert  Staplehurst  looked  at  the  red  end  of 
his  cigar  and  stroked  his  short-clipped  beard 
thoughtfully. 

"  I  am  nearly  always  crying  for  the  moon,"  he 
confessed.  "  It's  rather  pleasant  to  desire  the 
absolutely  unattainable." 

' '  Soyez  content,  mon  ami.  You  have  a  charming 
wife." 

"That's  quite  true,"  agreed  Gilbert  Staple- 
hurst  with  much  heartiness. 

''You're  earning  goodness  knows  how  much  a 
year  out  of  your  books." 

"My  income  is  pretty  fair,  certainly." 

"  Big  house  at  Chelsea;  no  children  to  bother 
you;  only  slightly  gray;  not  corpulent  as  to 
figure.  Why,  bless  my  soul,  Staplehurst,  what 
more  do  you  want?" 

The  Chair,  rising  to  propose  the  loyal  toast, 
looked  down  indignantly  at  his  friend.  Chair 
was  so  perturbed  that  he  threw  a  suggestion  of 
defiance  into  his  brief  proposal  of  the  health  of 
Her  Majesty  that  was  scarcely  necessary. 

"  Now,"  said  Chair,  resuming  his  seat — "now 
I'm  going  to  propose  your  health  directly,  Staple- 


hurst.  You'd  better  make  a  note  or  two  of  what 
you  want  to  say  in  reply." 

The  man  on  the  other  side  of  Staplehurst 
nudged  him,  and  he  turned. 

"  When  are  you  coming  up  to  my  studio  ? " 

"I  think  I'll  come  soon,  MacManus.  Mrs. 
Staplehurst  is  going  away  for  six  weeks,  taking 
her  mother  to  the  Cape,  and  I'm  to  be  a 
bachelor." 

"Ay,  man,"  said  Mr.  MacManus,  "some  of 
you  get  all  the  luck." 

"It  will  be  rather  miserable  for  me,"  said 
Staplehurst  thoughtfully.  "We're  neither  of  us 
very  happy  when  we're  apart." 

"Ye're  a  bit  old  to  be  in  love,  man.  The 
coortin'  days  are  by,  surely!" 

"I  think  a  man  should  always  be  his  wife's 
sweetheart." 

"It  depends,"  said  Mr.  MacManus  thought- 
fully— "  it  depends  to  a  great  extent  on  the  wife. 
In  streect  confidence,  I'll  tell  you,  now,  that  Mrs. 
MacManus  will  never  toolerate  for  a  single  mo- 
ment any  thing  of  the  kind.  Thirty  years  ago, 
now,  it  was  so  deeferent  :  I  was  a  bit  lad  then, 
and  I  married  her,  and  ay,"  MacManus  sighed, 
"we  were  happy." 


Gilbert  Staplehurst  nodded  his  head  in  acqui- 
escence. 

"There's  nothing  so  precious,"  he  said,  "as 
youth." 

He  wrote  on  the  back  of  the  menu  with  a  small 
pencil  three  words — "Thanks,"  "Success," 
"Youth."  The  word  "  youth  "  he  underlined, 
that  he  might  not  forget  to  speak  of  the  topic 
of  which  the  word  was  to  remind  him.  As  he 
held  his  pencil  on  the  card,  he  looked  before  him. 
For  a  moment  he  saw,  not  four  long  white-clothed 
tables  with  quick-eyed  men  seated  thereat,  but 
a  train  coming  in  at  Paddington,  and  a  youth 
alighting  before  the  train  stopped,  in  his  impa- 
tience to  make  a  name  for  himself  with  the  least 
possible  delay — a  well-looking  youth,  with  plenty 
of  wavy  hair  ;  with  the  complexion  that  health 
brings,  and  the  quick  step  that  comes  with 
twenty-two  and  thinks  of  going  at  forty  and  fifty 
years.  The  youth  of  twenty-two  looks  about 
him  delightedly,  observing  every  thing,  almost 
laughing  with  the  sheer  joy  of  living.  He  has 
been  up  from  Devonshire  three  times  before,  but 
always  with  an  economic  aunt  or  a  careful  uncle. 
This  morning  he  is  alone.  To-day  the  fight 
begins.  He,  young  Gilbert  Staplehurst,  is  his 


own  regiment  ;  he  has  no  one  at  his  back  to 
encourage  him.  Outside  Paddington  Station 

"Fellow-members  of  the  Nomadic  Club"  (Mr. 
Gilbert  Staplehurst,  as  he  hears  the  Chair's  voice, 
swiftly  comes  down  from  the  clouds  of  retrospec- 
tion to  the  table-land  of  reality),  "  I  have  to  ask 
you  to  drink  with  me  the  health  of  the  guest  of 
the  evening,  Mr.  Gilbert  Staplehurst  [Cheers]. 
We  are  not  accustomed  at  our  dinners  to  use  the 
language  that  flatters  at  the  expense  of  the  lan- 
guage that  is  true,  and  it  is  only  right  that  I 
should  tell  you  frankly  that  Mr.  Staplehurst, 
unlike  ourselves,  has  his  faults  [Laughter]  ;  he 
has  the  impudence  not  to  be  satisfied  with  his 
career,  albeit  that  career  has  been  one  that  nearly 
all  of  us  present  here  to-night  envy  [Hear,  hear  !]. 

"I  need  not  give  you  a  list  of  the  works  which 
have  made  the  name  of  Gilbert  Staplehurst 
famous  wherever  English  literature  is  read.  I 
need  not  tell  you  how,  after  some  years  of  steady 
toil  and,  as  Stevenson  puts  it,  '  of  slogging  away, 
day  in  and  day  out,'  he  not  so  very  long  ago 
found  himself  one  of  the  few  men  whom  the 
world  delights  to  honor  [Cheers].  We  of  the 
Nomadic  Club,  who  desire  to  meet  talent  and 
acknowledge  its  existence,  have  done  ourselves 


the  pleasure  of  asking  him  to  be  our  guest  to- 
night, in  order  that  we  may  assure  him  of  our 
regard  [Hear,  hear!],  of  our  admiration  [Hear, 
hear  !],  and  our  sincere  felicitations  [Cheers].  I 
give  you  the  health  of  Gilbert  Staplehurst ;  and 
if  one  or  two  of  you  can  sing  without  causing  any 
fatality  [A  laugh],  we  might  give  it  with  musical 
honors"  [Cheers]. 

The  Nomadic  Club  was  made  up  of  excellent 
young  men,  most  earnest  in  their  various  profes- 
sions, and  with  many  public  and  private  virtues  ; 
but  of  these  virtues  accuracy  in  music  was  not 
one.  Nevertheless,  the  congratulatory  chorus  of 
"For  he's  a  jolly  good  fellow  "  was  given  with 
great  enthusiasm  ;  and  if  some  did  sing  an  octave 
lower  than  others,  their  hearts  were  doubtless  in 
the  right  place.  Something  came  to  the  throat 
of  Mr.  Staplehurst  as,  alone  seated,  he  watched 
the  excitement.  A  good  proportion  of  the  mem- 
bers were  on  what  is  called  the  right  side  of 
thirty;  some  were  as  absurdly  young  as  twenty- 
one.  The  noise  they  were  making  delighted  these 
younger  ones,  and  they  gave  the  ''Hip-hip- 
hurrah  !  "  with  so  much  of  strenuousness  that  a 
jovial  smoking-concert  in  the  hall  below,  finding 
itself  outnoised,  sent  up  presently  a  polite  mes- 


sage  by  the  waiter  to  enquire  whether  the  earth- 
quake was  over. 

"It's  very  good  of  you  to  say  those  pleasant 
things,"  said  Gilbert  Staplehurst. 

"Did  it  rather  neatly,  didn't  I?"  said  the 
Chair  humorously.  "I  suppose  that  Demos- 
thenes and  myself  are  really  the  only  two  orators 
worth  mentioning." 

"I  am  quite  serious,"  said  the  Guest  of  the 
Evening. 

"You  shouldn't  be,  Staplehurst.  Life  is  not  a 
performance  to  be  serious  about.  The  best  way 
is  to  look  on  and  laugh." 

"I  should  laugh,"  said  Staplehurst  good- 
temperedly,  "if  I  were  only  as  young  as  some 
of  these  lads  round  me.  It's  a  fine  thing  to 
have  the  world  before  you,  instead  of  behind." 

"No  use  worrying  about  that,"  said  the  Chair 
wisely;  "it  can't  be  altered.  The  whole  scheme 
of  things  is  not  to  be  changed  to  suit  even  dis- 
tinguished writers.  My  own  opinion  is  that  the 
gods  know  what  they're  about,  and  that  it's  all 
for  the " 

The  secretary  of  the  Club  came  and  whispered 
to  the  Chair. 

"Certainly,    Rowlands;   let  him  sing  now  by 


all  means  if  he  wants  to  get  away.     Mr.  Staple- 
hurst  can  reply  afterward." 

The  piano  in  the  corner  of  the  large  room  was 
moved  to  a  new  position,  and  its  candles  were 
lighted.  A  tall  youth  finished  his  coffee,  and 
strolled  with  an  air  of  elaborate  negligence  from 
his  seat  to  the  music-stool.  Then,  in  a  most 
excellent  baritone  voice,  and  to  his  own  vamped 
accompaniments,  he  sang: 

"There  are  joys  of  this  earth  of  most  excellent  worth, 
That  to  most  of  us  sometimes  arrive  ; 
But  there's  one  that  is  sweeter  than  others  you  meet  here — 
'Tis  the  joy  just  of  being  alive. 
For  when " 

"Will  you  have  a  Chartreuse  or  something, 
Staplehurst  ?  "  asked  the  Chair. 

"No,  thank  you — not  before  I've  got  over  this 
speech  business." 

"Cheer  up,"  said  the  Chair  encouragingly. 

"'At  such  a  time,'"  quoted  Gilbert  Staple- 
hurst,  with  a  laugh,  "  '  the  mind,  Mr.  Wilfer, 
naturally  reverts  to  the  past.'" 

"You  men  with  a  past  are  nearly  as  great 
'a  nuisance  as  men  with  a  future.  What's  the 
matter  with  your  past?" 

"Nothing,"  exclaimed  Staplehurst  definitely. 


He  glanced  at  the  long  white  ash  of  his  cigar. 
"Nothing  at  all.  Twenty  years  ago  was  the 
happiest  time  of  my  life." 

"Nonsense  !  " 

"I  am  speaking,"  said  the  Guest  of  the  Even- 
ing, with  much  earnestness — "I  am  speaking 
the  absolute  truth." 

"That's  a  habit  that  will  grow  on  you,  if 
you're  not  careful,"  remarked  the  Chair  warn- 
ingly. 

The  baritone  youth  at  the  piano  concluded  his 
song  with  a  triumphant  manner  : 

"  And  here's  to  the  health  and  the  wisdom  and  wealth 
Of  the  man  who  is  always  alive  !  " 

And  hurried  off. 

"Now,  Staplehurst" 

Tremendous  applause.  Clattering  of  knives, 
tapping  of  tables,  the  confused  "hear,  hear  "-ing 
that  reporters  called  "cheers." 

The  tall  figure  of  the  Guest  stood  up.  He 
looked  around  the  room  at  the  flushed  faces  of 
his  young  hosts;  he  passed  his  hand  over  his 
prematurely  grayish  hair,  and  looked  down  at 
the  notes  before  him — "Thanks." 

"Gentlemen :  let  me  try  to  tell  you,  if  I  can, 


ho.w  much  I  appreciate  the  compliment  that  you 
are  paying  me  to-night.  The  good  feeling  of 
one's  fellow-workers  is  a  priceless  possession; 
you,  by  your  kindness  to-night,  are  making  me 
believe  that  my  enemies  are  few,  and  that  my 
friends  are  many  [Cheers].  I  shall  not  forget 
this  evening.  It  is  not  every  thing  in  this  life 
that  happens  precisely  as  one  would  wish,  and  the 
fault  is  perhaps  generally  one's  own.  I  often 
think  that,  if  we  were  permitted  to  live  our  lives 
over  again,  we  might  profit  from  the  experience 
of  the  first  essay  [Laughter],  and  comport  our- 
selves with  something  more  of  discretion.  But 
under  the  present  rules  of  the  game  it  is  not 
permitted  to  have  a  second  innings,  and  we  have 
to  take  our  own  life  as  we  find  it,  and  do  the 
best  we  can  with  the  brief  training  that  we  get. 
I  should  like,  though,  to  think  that  whatever 
may  happen  to  me  after  I  leave  this  room  noth- 
ing may  erase  from  my  mind  the  memory  of  this 
evening  with  you  all  "  [Loud  cheers]. 

Gilbert  Staplehurst  looked  down  at  the  second 
word  on  his  notes,  "  Success." 

"Your  chairman,  gentlemen,  has  been  kind 
enough  to  refer  to  one  or  two  of  my  books 
which  have  attained  some  circulation.  The 


worst  form  of  conceit  is  the  assumption  of  self- 
contempt,  and  I  wish  to  declare  frankly  that  it 
gives  me  great  pleasure  to  hear  my  work  praised 
[Hear,  hear  !].  I  passed  through  years  of  good, 
solid,  hard  work,  as  some  of  you  perhaps  have 
done  [Hear,  hear  !],  as  some  of  you  perhaps  are 
doing  [Cheers],  before  I  found  that  the  age 
beamed  upon  me.  I  don't  regret  that  appren- 
ticeship. I  am  sincere  in  saying,  gentlemen,  that 
those  were  the  happiest,  the  most  delightful  days 
of  my  life  [A  laugh].  I  am  sorry  to  hear  a  laugh. 
I  can  assure  you  that  I  am  speaking  sincerely." 

The  Club  cheered,  and  the  gloomy,  straight- 
haired  youth  who  had  ejaculated  the  Mephistoph- 
eles-like  laugh  was  frowned  at  by  his  neighbors 
and  became  a  prey  to  gloom. 

"To  be  young,  to  have  youth  on  your  side, 
that  is  the  true  secret  of  happiness.  Your  future 
is  in  your  own  hands  then  ;  you  can  make  it,  mar 
it,  or  play  the  fool  with  it,  just  as  you  please. 
We — and  when  I  say  we,  I  am  holding  a  brief  for 
the  middle-aged  folk — we,  I  say,  were  all  young 
once.  I  feel  to-night  that  I  wish  it  were  per- 
mitted to  be  young  twice  [Laughter].  What 
mistakes  one  might  omit,  what  waste  of  time  one 
might  avoid,  how  quickly  one  might  reach  the 


goal  of  happiness  !  I'm  afraid,  gentlemen,  that 
it  is  useless  to  argue  the  question,  or  even  to 
submit  here  to  the  gods  the  inconvenience  of  the 
present  arrangement  [Laughter],  All  that  we 
can  do,  all  that  I  can  recommend  you  to  do  is  to 

"  '  Gather  ye  rosebuds  while  ye  may,' 

and  do  your  best  while  youth  is  with  you,  for  you 
will  never  have  a  second  opportunity. 

"  Gentlemen,  only  one  word  more." 

One  or  two  youths  sighed  at  hearing  this 
remark.  They  knew  that,  with  average  orators, 
this  phrase  usually  precedes  a  lengthy  harangue. 

"One  word  more.  That  word  shall  be  of 
thanks  to  you,  of  thanks  to  the  British  public,  of 
thanks  to  my  dear  wife,  whom  I  shall  see  this 
evening  before  she  leaves  on  a  trip  to  the  Cape, 
and  who  has  always  been  my  best  and  dearest 
friend  [Cheers],  and,  finally,  God  bless  you  all!" 

Staplehurst  closed  his  speech  hurriedly  because 
his  reference  to  Mrs.  Staplehurst  had  just  for  the 
moment  made  him  feel  as  though  he  could  not 
trust  his  voice.  The  room  cheered  and  rattled 
glasses,  and  when  a  flushed  young  journalist  rose 
and  cried  "Good  old  G.,"  the  room  cheered 
again  the  familiar  initial. 


"  Now,  if  it  won't  appear  rude,"  said  Staple- 
hurst  to  the  Chair,  "I  should  like  to  hear  one 
more  song  and  then  slip  off.  They  won't  mind, 
will  they  ?  Mrs.  Staplehurst  has  to  go  by  the 
nine-thirty  train  from  Paddington  to  her  mother's 
house,  and  they  go  away  by  the  early  mail  to 
Southampton  to-morrow  morning.  She's  a  very 
good  old  lady,  the  mother." 

" Do  be  careful,  Staplehurst,"  said  the  Chair 
protestingly;  "you  seem  bent  on  upsetting  all 
the  traditions  that  have  made  England  noble. 
A  man  who  will  say  a  good  word  for  his 
wife's  mother  is  a  man  who  will  say  any 
thing  !  " 

"  Nevertheless  it  is  the  truth." 

"  That  is  no  excuse.  Besides,  you  are  not  the 
man  to  stand  up  for  truth.  Fiction  has  always 
been  your  best  friend." 

"  If  I  were  beginning  my  life  again,  I  wonder 
whether  I  should  choose  literature  ?  " 

"A  man,"  interposed  MacManus  from  the 
other  side,  "  never  chooses  his  path  in  life.  The 
path  just  chooses  him." 

"  I'm  not  quite  sure  that  I  understand  what 
that  means,"  remarked  the  Chair.  "I'm  going 
to  call  on  Waterson  for  a  recitation." 


Gilbert  Staplehurst  waited  for  this.  It  was  a 
powerful  recitation  of  the  Kipling  order. 

"  He's  a  gruntin',  grizzly  fool  with  a  head  just  like  a  mule, 
But  he's  just  the  man  to  fight  the  Widow's  fight  ; 
And  when " 

The  Nomadic  Club  cheered  at  the  end  with 
sufficient  turmoil  to  permit  the  guest  of  the  even- 
ing to  shake  hands  unobserved  with  a  few  of  his 
immediate  friends;  to  walk  down  stairs  for  his 
hat  and  coat, — a  touch  of  rheumatism  in  the  left 
shoulder  made  him  wince  as  the  cloak-room  man 
helped  him  with  his  long  overcoat, — and  to  take 
hansom  for  home. 

"  Right  you  are,  sir.     Winder  up  or  dahn  ?  " 

"Up,"  said  Mr.  Staplehurst;  "the  night's 
chilly." 

"Ah,"  said  the  cabman  sympathetically 
through  the  trap,  "we  can't  stand  the 'eat,  sir, 
and  we  can't  stand  the  cold,  sir,  like  what  we 
used  to  in  our  young  days." 

"  What  the  devil  do  you  mean  by  that?  "  asked 
Staplehurst  sharply. 

"What  do  I  mean,  sir?"  repeated  the  cab- 
man. "What  do  I  mean  ?  Why,  I  don't  mean 
no  offence,  that's  a  very  sure  thing." 


16 


"No,  no;  of  course  not!" 

Staplehurst  felt  ashamed  of  his  sudden  out- 
burst. He  stepped  into  the  hansom.  "  Pad- 
dington  Station." 

"I  dunno  how  it  is,"  muttered  the  cabman  to 
himself,  "  but  I  never  seem  ible  to  say  the  right 
thing  some'ow.  Lord  knows  I  try  to  be  nice, 
too.  Whoever  would  'a'  guessed  that  he'd  got  so 
ror  all  in  a  moment  just  because  I  sympathized 
with  him." 

The  hansom  went  swiftly  Bayswater  way. 
Staplehurst,  looking  out  through  the  window  of 
the  cab,  found  his  mind  bent  on  the  considera- 
tion, not  of  to-night's  dinner,  not  of  the  cheers 
of  the  Nomadic  Club,  not  of  the  kind  things  said 
by  every  one  about  himself  and  his  work,  not  of 
the  position  that  to-night's  event  marked  as  it 
were  in  scarlet  letters;  instead  his  mind  persist- 
ently centred  itself  on  the  incidents  of  twenty- 
five  years  ago.  The  scent  came  from  the  trees 
in  the  park,  with  it  a  suggestion  of  wallflowers  : 
outside  the  railings  the  dilapidated  artist  held 
his  evening  exhibition  of  art  with  the  aid  of 
candles  stuck  in  gingerbeer  bottles. 

Suddenly  came  one  of  those  amazing  little 
scenes  that  keep  London  streets  from  being 


commonplace.  Three  youths,  long-legged,  bare- 
headed, and  dank-haired,  in  blue  pants  and  vest 
and  running  shoes  and  nothing  else,  came  madly 
down  Edgware  Road,  racing  for  some  goal  with 
a  determination  that  made  them  oblivious  of 
the  ironical  cheers  of  small  boys  on  the  pave- 
ment. 

"  Go  it !     Go  ///    Why  don't  you  run  ? " 

"  'Urry  along,  there  ;  'urry  along  !  You'll  be 
late  'ome,  if  you  ain't  careful." 

"  I  say,  mister,  where's  your  hat  ?  You've  bin 
and  lost  it,  I  lay." 

The  odd  sight  somehow  assisted  Mr.  Staple- 
hurst's  reminiscences.  He  had  been  an  athletic 
enthusiast  in  his  youth,  and  now,  whenever  he 
had  to  see  Dr.  Ripon  of  Wimpole  Street,  Ripon 
always  told  him  that  he  was  paying  for  the 
over-training  in  his  youth.  These  wise  men  of 
Wimpole  Street  are  ever  giving  one  unavailing 
information  in  regard  to  first  causes.  Staple- 
hurst,  too,  like  every  one  else  of  his  age, 
had  to  use  an  increased  discretion  in  regard 
to  solids  that  are  eaten  and  liquids  that  are 
drunk. 

"At  twenty,"  said  Staplehurst,  looking  at  a 
restaurant — "at  twenty  I  used  to  be  able  to 


i3 


eat  nearly  every  thing.  I  wonder  why  some 
pleasures  are  not  reserved  for  the  later  life. 
Why,"  said  Mr.  Staplehurst  expostulatingly  to 
the  cab  horse — "why  cram  them  all  into  the 
early  years  ?  Ay?" 

The  cab  horse  seemed  quite  ignorant  of  the 
answer  to  the  riddle. 

"  From  twenty  to  thirty,  or  a  little  after, 
all  the  joy  comes;  all  the  excitement  of 
a  man's  life.  He  falls  in  love,  he  falls  out; 
he  makes  the  foundation  of  his  career,  and 
sees  that  the  corner-stone  is  well  and  truly 
laid;  he " 

"Hi  !" 

The  cab  pulled  up.  A  youthful  couple  had 
hailed  it  with  so  much  decision  that  the  cabman 
did  not  dare  but  obey. 

"Dear  Mr.  Staplehurst!"  It  was  the  youth 
who  spoke.  "  Madge  and  I  are  just  getting 
home,  and  we  caught  sight  of  you.  You  don't 
mind  our  stopping  you  ?  " 

"It's  dreadfully  rude,  I  am  afraid,"  said  the 
young  lady;  "but  we're  so  happy  that  we  are 
doing  all  sorts  of  mad  things." 

Mr.  Staplehurst  stepped  carefully  out  of  the 
hansom  and  shook  hands. 


"And   when   did   you   come   back  from  your 

honeymoon,  young  people  ? "  he  asked  genially. 

"  Only  on  Saturday.     And  we've  had  the  most 

delightful  tour  you  can  possibly " 

"  Of  course  you  have.  And  you  liked  Italy  ? 
Did  it  behave  well  to  you  ? " 

"Italy  conducted  itself  charmingly,"  said  the 
beaming  young  lady.  "  In  fact,  all  Europe  con- 
spired on  our  behalf.  And  Herbert  found,  on  his 
return,  such  excellent  news." 

"Had  a  letter  from  old  Purfleet,"  said  the 
young  husband,  taking  up  his  part  in  the  duet, 

"  offering  me " 

He  whispered  confidentially. 
"Good  !  "  cried  Gilbert  Staplehurst.     "I  con- 
gratulate you.     And  I  wish  you  once  more  all 
sorts  of  good   luck.      You  have  every  thing  in 
your  favor." 

"We  are  going  to  settle  down,"  she  declared 
with  enthusiasm,  "  into  the  quietest  young 
couple  you  ever  invented,  Mr.  Staplehurst.  Do 
you  remember  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Warburgh  in  that 
last  novel  of  yours?" 

"I  had  the  inestimable  pleasure  of  read- 
ing that  delightful  work,"  said  Staplehurst, 
"and " 


20 


"We  are  going  to  take  them  as  our  model, 
aren't  we,  dear  ?  " 

"  The  sweet  girl  lets  her  tongue  run  on,  sir," 
said  the  young  fellow  apologetically,  "and  for- 
gets that  we  are  keeping  you  here  in  the  cold. 
How's  the  sciatica,  sir  ? " 

"  Don't  talk  about  it,"  said  Mr.  Staplehurst. 
"  I  pretend  to  ignore  it  as  long  as  I  can.  Good- 
by,  lucky  young  children." 

"  Good-by.  Give  our  love  to  dear  Mrs. 
Staplehurst.  Good-by." 

Gilbert  Staplehurst  stood  on  the  pavement 
and  watched  the  two  young  people  hurry  along  in 
the  direction  of  the  Marble  Arch.  The  lady  with 
one  hand  bunched  up  her  skirts  carefully,  as 
young  matrons  (with  an  eye  to  dress  bills)  do; 
with  the  other  she  took  affectionately  the  arm  of 
her  joyful  husband. 

Staplehurst  sighed  and  turned  to  walk. 
"  'Ere  !  "  expostulated  the  cabman.  "  'Arf  a 
minute,  sir;  'arf  a  minute!  How  do  you  think 
a  poor  kebby's  going  to  get  drink  and  srnoke  and 
food  if  respectable  middle-aged  gents  go  bilking 
of  him  like  this  ?  If  you  don't  want  to  be  drove 

all  the  w'y  to  Paddington,  why " 

It  dawned  upon  Staplehurst  that  in  his  absence 


of  mind  he  had  forgotten  his  cab.  He  tossed,  as 
peace-offering,  a  four-shilling  piece  to  the  in- 
dignant cabman  and  stepped  in. 

"Good  luck  to  you,  sir  !"  cried  the  cabman, 
with  a  quick  change  of  manner.  "  May  you 
never  know  what  it  is  to " 

"Drive  on!"  said  Mr.  Staplehurst. 


CHAPTER  II 

PADDINGTON  STATION  was,  as  to  one  part,  in  a 
state  of  serenity  and  partial  darkness;  as  to  plat- 
form No.  i  it  was  bustle,  activity,  and  light.  A 
few  passengers,  nervous  of  being  left  behind, 
were  seated  in  the  train,  and  in  order  to  get  well 
forward  with  the  work  of  saying  farewell,  had 
already  kissed  their  friends  several  times  over. 
In  the  refreshment  room  men  were  swallowing 
cups  of  coffee  and  trying  (with  no  success)  to 
make  the  reserved  young  ladies  who  had  served 
them  to  smile. 

At  the  big  bookstall,  passengers  read  the  titles 
of  a  lot  of  books  with  an  air  of  acute  criticism, 
finally  rejecting  all  of  them  in  favor  of  an  evening 
newspaper  with  a  full  account  of  the  last  and 
best  and  brightest  murder.  A  blustering  com- 
mercial traveller,  annoyed  at  being  charged  the 
correct  amount  for  his  excess  luggage,  used  lan- 
guage to  the  calm  porter  of  such  a  character  that 
a  small,  fat,  white  baby  near,  of  Puritanical  views, 
wailed  aloud  and  absolutely  refused  to  be  com- 


23 


forted  until  the  commercial  gent  cooled  down 
and  resumed  the  language  to  which  the  small 
baby  had  been  accustomed. 

Mr.  Gilbert  Staplehurst  entered  the  station 
and  went  in  search  of  his  wife.  Her  good-look- 
ing face  lighted  up  as  she  saw  him. 

"I  am  so  glad  you  are  in  time  to  see  me  off, 
dear.  You're  not  tired  out  with  the  evening  ?  " 

"  I  am  just  a  little  fatigued,"  said  Mr.  Staple- 
hurst.  He  stood  on  the  platform  with  his  wife  ; 
the  guard  touched  his  cap  and  locked  up  a 
compartment. 

"  They  were  all  very  enthusiastic  and  noisy 
and " 

"  And  your  head  aches  a  little  ?  "  Mrs.  Staple- 
hurst  passed  her  small  plump  hand  over  his 
forehead  with  an  affectionate  action.  "  I  wish  I 
were  not  going  now.  Only  poor  mother  will 
expect  me  and " 

"  My  dear,"  said  Staplehurst,  holding  her 
chin,  "you  must  think  of  somebody  besides  your 
husband." 

"  My  mother  and  my  husband  are  the  only 
folk  I  want  to  think  of.  I'm  only  a  woman." 

They  walked  toward  the  bookstall.  The  big, 
broad  platform  was  busy,  and  passengers  with 


mountains  of  luggage  were  becoming  scarlet  with 
worry. 

"And,"  Mrs.  Staplehurst  laughed  nervously, 
"because  I'm  only  a  woman " 

"  It's  enough,  dear." 

"Only  a  woman,  I  can't  help  a  very  stupid 
feeling  that  something  extraordinary  is  going  to 
happen  before  I  return." 

"If  you  will  give  me  a  hint,  Alice,  I  will  see 
what  can  be  done.  Would  you  like " 

"  I  almost  wish,  Gilbert,  that  you  too  were  com- 
ing for  a  change." 

"  If  I  am  bored  with  my  own  company  I  will 
go  somewhere." 

"I  shall  write  as  often  as  possible,"  went  on 
Mrs.  Staplehurst,  taking  up  two  or  three  peri- 
odicals, "  and — I  have  a  two-shilling  piece,  dear — 
and  if  you  can  find  time,  you  must  send  me  just 
a  line  to  Madeira  to  meet  us  on  our  return. 
That's  the  only  chance  you  will  have.  The  doc- 
tor says  that  dear  mother  must  keep  going." 

"  If  anything  happens,  dear,  to  prevent  you 
from  getting  a  note  you  mustn't  think  that  I  have 
forgotten  you." 

She  pressed  his  arm,  and  Mr.  Staplehurst 
laughed  suddenly. 


"Upon  my  word,  Alice,"  he  whispered, 
"  we're  talking  as  though  we  were  only  half  our 
real  age.  Nobody  who  heard  us  would  imagine 
that  we  had  been  married  for  twenty-five  years  !  " 

"  I  don't  believe  it  is  twenty-five  years,"  de- 
clared Mrs.  Staplehurst  obstinately.  "I  believe 
it  has  been  more  like  twenty-five  minutes.  Is 
that  the  bell  for  my  train  ?  Perhaps  I  had  better 
take  my  seat." 

The  guard  was  there.  Guard  anxious  to  have 
a  word  or  two  to  say  to  Mr.  Staplehurst,  in  order 
that  he  might  quote  the  author's  responses  in 
Exeter,  where  Staplehurst's  popularity  was  great. 
To-morrow,  in  the  Northcote  Arms,  guard 
would  repeat  word  for  word  his  Brief  talk  with 
the  West  Country  novelist,  and  listeners  would 
urge  cider  upon  the  guard  as  recompense. 

"You'll  look  after  Mrs.  Staplehurst,  guard?" 

"Don't  you  fear  about  that,  sir.  How  far's 
her  going  ? " 

"  Just  to  Torquay." 

"Nothin'  shall  'appen  to  your  good  lady  this 
side  Exeter,  sir.  Yew're  not  going?" 

The  guard  turned  his  lamp  on  Staplehurst's 
evening  dress  and  noted  one  or  two  details  for 
the  information  of  the  Northcote  Arms. 


26 


"  No,  Barker.  I'm  to  be  left  alone  for  six 
weeks  or  more.  I  sha'n't  know  what  to  make  of 
it  at  first" 

"And  the  baby,  Barker  ?'"  interposed  Mrs. 
Staplehurst  from  the  carriage — "  the  last  one,  I 
mean  ?  " 

"He's  a  fine  child,  ma'am,"  said  Mr.  Barker, 
"a  fine  child,  if  ever  there  was  one.  But  I  tell 
the  missis  that  it  mun  stop  now.  Ten  children 
in  a  family  is  a  good  mod'rate  number.  May  I 
shut  the  door,  ma'am  ?  Thank  you,  sir,  thank 
you.  My  eldest  boy  read  your  last  book,  sir." 

"  Is  he  still  alive,  Barker  ?  " 

"Bless  you,  sir,  he  roared  over  some  parts  of 
it — fairly  roared,  he  did.  And  then  other  parts 
made  him  look  very  straight." 

Mr.  Staplehurst  smiled  at  the  compliment. 
It  is  a  hard  literary  heart  that  does  not  re- 
joice when  the  compliment  unexpected  arrives. 
Barker,  lamp  in  hand,  ran  forward ;  the  inspector 
appealed  to  passengers  to  take  their  seats,  and 
begged  non-passengers  to  stand  away  from  the 
train.  To  the  railway  official  the  world  is  ever  a 
reformatory  school  of  undisciplined  pupils. 

"  No  other  message,  dear  ? " 

"  No,"  said  Mrs.  Staplehurst. 


The  tears  were  in  her  eyes,  for  some  women 
will  weep  even  at  the  most  affecting  moments. 

"  Excepting  to  kiss  you." 

Staplehurst  put  his  head  in  at  the  window  and 
kissed  his  wife.  The  train  jerked;  a  newspaper 
boy  played  lawn  tennis  with  evening  journals,  his 
server  using  coppers;  the  guard  stepped  into  his 
brake  and  shouted  something  satirical  to  a  lamp- 
man  about  the  lampman's  face;  Gilbert  Staple- 
hurst  took  off  his  hat  and  stood  bareheaded  as 
the  train  drew  out. 

Then  he  went  outside  and  stepped  again  into 
his  cab. 

"Cheyne  Gardens,"  said  Mr.  Staplehurst 
shortly. 

It  must  have  been  the  parting  from  his  dear 
wife  that  made  the  fare  thoughtful.  He  leaned 
over  the  splash-board  and  looked  at  the  lighted 
shops,  at  the  crowds  on  the  pavement,  at  tall, 
lanky  scarlet  soldiers  escorting  dwarf-like  ser- 
vants, and  all  the  ordinary  sights  of  the  streets 
— he  looked  at  these  without  seeing  them.  He 
could  only  see  a  delighted  young  couple,  in  the 
hats  of  years  ago,  walking  in  Kensington  Gar- 
dens and  telling  each  other 

"Here  you  are,  cabman." 


28 


Mr.  Staplehurst  thrust  his  hand  up  to  stop  the 
cab. 

"Will  this  do  for  you,  cabman  ?  " 

"  Sir,"  said  the  cabman,  with  a  burst  of  enthu- 
siasm, "you're  what  I  call  a  gentleman.  You 
know  how  to  treat  a  poor  kebby,  you  do.  You've 
got  a  'eart  as " 

"Good-night." 

On  the  narrow  table  in  the  hall  was  a  letter 
marked,  "By  hand.  Immediate."  Mr.  Staple- 
hurst  took  it  upstairs  to  his  comfortable  study, 
switched  on  the  electric  light,  and  took  a  cigar- 
ette. -They  were  of  a  very  mild  brand ;  he  did 
not  dare  to  smoke  much.  With  a  small  paper- 
cutter  he  opened  the  envelope. 

"Hang  it!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Staplehurst. 

The  editor  of  a  weekly  review  begged  that  his 
dear  friend  Staplehurst  would  let  him  have,  by 
ten  o'clock  on  the  following  morning,  without 
fail,  a  two-thousand-word  article  in  continuation 
of  a  series  of  light  mythological  studies  that  had 
appeared  before.  The  editor  hoped  that  his  dear 
friend  Staplehurst  would  not  disappoint  him.  The 
editor  had  (he  said)  tons  of  ordinary  stuff;  what 
he  wanted,  and  what  was  so  difficult  to  get,  was 
the  stuff  extraordinary.  Editor  suggested  Juno 


29 

as  a  possible   subject.     Ten   o'clock   to-morrow 
morning. 

Mr.  Staplehurst  pressed  the  knob  by  the 
mantel-piece. 

"Martha!" 

"Yes,  sir.     Did  you  ring,  sir?" 

"You  servants  needn't  stay  up.  I  shall  be  at 
work  for  a  while.  And,  by  the  bye,  I  may  be 
going  away.  I'm  not  sure,  yet,  but  it  is  possible. 
If  I  do  go,  you  can  manage,  I  suppose  ?  " 

Martha  was  a  middle-aged  maid  who  had  been 
with  the  Staplehursts  for  years. 

"  I  think  I  know  how  to  manage,  sir,"  she  said 
severely. 

"Yes,  yes,  of  course!  Those  men  haven't 
been  about  the  telephone,  I  suppose?" 

"Why,  yes,  sir.  Haven't  you  noticed  it? 
Here  it  is,  in  the  corner  of  the  room,  just  where 
you  said  it  was  to  be  put." 

"I  hadn't  noticed  it."     Staplehurst  rose  and 
went  toward  the  newly  fixed  instrument.     It  was 
a   neat   little   affair;    he    had    ordered    that    it 
should    be    furnished    with    all    the    latest    im 
provements. 

"Wonderful  thing,  sir,  steam — I  mean  to  say 
'lectricity,"  remarked  Martha.  "I'm  told  that 


you  can  talk  to  almost  any  body  and  anywheres 
through  these." 

"Almost,"  said  Mr.  Staplehurst. 

He  took  the  tubes  off  their  supports  and 
peered  curiously  at  the  wires. 

"  I  wonder,"  said  Martha,  "  what  in  the  world 
they'll  be  inventing  of  next.  Reely,  there  don't 
seem  any  bounds  to  what  they  can  do  nowadays, 
does  there,  sir  ?  Once  they  set  their  mind  on 
a  thing,  why,  it's  as  good  as  done.  At  least," 
added  Martha  respectfully,  "  that's  how  it  seems 
to  me.  There  must  be  a  limit  to  it  all  some 
day.  Some  day  some  one  '11  go  a  bit  too  far  and 
then " 

Martha  stopped  because  she  felt  that  she  was 
becoming  too  talkative. 

"Good-night,  sir." 

"Good-night,  Martha.  You  won't  forget 
what  I  said  ?  " 

"/ sha'n't  forget,  sir." 

The  article  took  about  an  hour  and  a  half  to 
write.  Staplehurst,  reading  it  through,  felt 
bound  to  smile  here  and  there,  tired  as  he  was. 
The  defence  of  Juno  was  definite  and  uncom- 
promising; the  article  argued  quaintly  that  she 
and  Jove  were  really  model  characters  with 


no  thought  of  guile,  that  their  characters  had 
been  besmirched  by  the  ancient  society  journals 
thirsting  for  scandal  in  high  places. 

"It  is  to  be  regretted  that  so  long  a  time 
should  have  been  allowed  to  elapse  before  a 
proper  investigation  into  these  affairs  was  made. 
It  is  indeed  a  crying  scandal  to  our  ancestors 
whose 

"  '  swords  are  rust, 
Their  bodies  dust, 
Their  souls  are  with  the  saints,  we  trust,' 

that  they  never  moved  hand  or  foot  to  defend 
the  character  of  the  much-traduced  Juno. 

"  For  the  Victorian  Era  this  has  been  reserved. 
The  present  writer,  although  he  has  only  in  this 
brief  paper  essayed  to  point  the  way,  trusts  that 
the  Government  will  lose  no  time  in  offering  a 
Commission  of  the  House  for  search  after  accu- 
racy in  these  matters.  Commissions  have  been 
held  on  subjects  less  tangible;  on  none  more 
fraught  with  interest  to  the  community." 

"Why,  bless  my  soul,"  said  Mr.  Staplehurst, 
as  he  enclosed  the  scrip  and  marked  it  for  de- 
livery by  an  express  messenger,  "it  was  over 


a  mythological  article  that  I  earned  my  first 
money.  I  can  remember  how  my  heart  jumped 
then;  I  never  have  that  delight  now.  I  believe 
that  I  was  happier  then  in  my  dullest  moments 
than  I  am  now  in  my  brightest." 

He  walked  to  the  telephone  and  looked  down 
on  the  small  mahogany  board. 

"I  wish,"  he  said  wearily — "I  wish  to  good- 
ness I  were  young  again." 

A  ring  at  the  telephone,  one  distinct  ring. 
Mr.  Staplehurst  was  so  astonished  that  he  did 
not  at  first  answer  it. 

Another  ring.  Loud,  insistent,  complaining  ! 
Mr.  Staplehurst  took  the  tubes  from  off  their 
supports  and  placed  them  to  his  ears. 

"  Hullo  there  !  "  he  cried. 

"  Oh,  you've  answered  at  last,  have  you  ?  *  Are 
you  Gilbert  Staplehurst  ?  " 

"Yes,  yes,  of  course  I  am.  Who  are  you? 
Speak  up,  please.  Don't  mumble  so.  Speak 
out  distinctly." 

"I  can  speak  distinctly  enough,"  said  the 
voice  at  the  other  end  testily,  "if  you'd  only 
listen.  You  people  fly  into  such  a  temper  over 
the  smallest " 

"I'm  not  in  a  temper,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Staple- 


33 


hurst  warmly,  "  I  was  never  calmer  in  my  life. 
It's  you  who  are  behaving  stupidly.  If  you 
will  kindly  keep  cool,  and  tell  me  what  you 
want " 

"  I  don't  want  any  thing.  I've  got  every  thing 
I  want." 

"You're  lucky,"  said  Mr.  Staplehurst. 

"I  know  that.  It's  my  special  department. 
But  look  here  !  I  mustn't  bandy  words  with 
you.  I  have  a  good  many  things  to  look  after, 
and  I  can't  afford  to  waste  a  whole  night  over 
one  individual." 

Gilbert  Staplehurst  bit  his  lips  to  avoid  an 
excursion  into  intemperate  language.  There  is 
no  more  trying  situation  in  this  world  than  to 
have  to  deal  through  the  telephone  with  a  defiant 
unknown. 

"Will  you  allow  me  to  speak?"  begged  Mr. 
Staplehurst.  "  I  only  want  to  ask  you  to  be  so 
kind  as  to  say — before  we  go  any  further — who 
you  are  ? " 

The  voice  gave  the  reply  with  great  distinct- 
ness. 

"Jove?"  repeated  Staplehurst,  "Jove  what? 
Jove  who  ? " 

"Just  Jove." 
3 


34 


"What's  your  Christian  name?"  demanded 
Mr.  Staplehurst  aggrievedly. 

"  Haven't  any  thing  to  do  with  Christian  names. 
I'm  a  god,  and  my  name's  Jove.  You  know  me. 
Why,  you  wrote  an  article  not  long  ago — a  very 
good,  sensible  article — stating  the  facts  of  my 
case  in  a  remarkably  logical  and  admirable  way. 
I — in  fact  I'm  much  obliged  to  you." 

"That's  all  right,"  answered  Mr.  Staplehurst 
uneasily.  "I'm  glad  you  liked  it;  you  needn't 
say  any  more  about  that." 

"  Oh,  but  I  shall.  It  is  not  often  I  feel  deeply 
over  any  thing,  but  your  kindness" — the  voice 
quavered  a  little — "your  kindness  really  affected 
me  very  much.  And  now  I  understand  that  you 
have  taken  a  brief  on  behalf  of  my  wife,  Juno. 
You  have  explained  several  matters  in  a  way," 
the  speaker  coughed,  "  in  a  way  that  I  must  con- 
fess would  never  have  occurred  to  me.  I  should 
say,  Staplehurst,  that  you're  a  man  who  is  mak- 
ing his  way  in  the  world." 

"I  began  rather  late,"  said  Mr.  Staplehurst. 
"I  made  mistakes  when  I  was  a  youth,  and  in 
that  way  I  lost  time.  If  I  had  my  time  to  live 
over  again,  I  should  know  a  great  deal  better 
what  I  ought  to  do." 


35 


"  Still,  you're  all  right  now.  Men  should 
never  worry  about  the  past.  It's  the  present  and 
the  future  that  count.  And  as  regards  the  future, 
Juno,  who  is  really  very  much  touched  by  your 
kindness " 

'- 'Where  a  lady  is  concerned,"  said  Mr.  Staple- 
hurst  lightly,  "it  behooves  us  all  to  see  that  her 
fair  honor  is  not  attacked  by  an  ignorant  rabble." 

"That's  just  the  way  she  put  it  herself.  That's 
exactly  what  Juno  said.  But  you  are  the  first  mor- 
tal who  has  troubled  to  take  up  the  attitude,  and 
Juno  insists  that  we  should  do  something  for  you." 

"  I  couldn't  really  accept  any  thing.  I'm  very 
well  paid  for  the " 

"Bosh  !" 

"  I  beg  pardon  ?" 

"You  don't  know  the  kind  of  god  with  whom 
you  have  to  deal.  You  have  only  to  express  a 
wish  for  something  and,  no  matter  what  it  is,  I 
will  see  that  it  is  done." 

"  Don't  you  trouble,"  begged  Staplehurst.  "  I 
dare  say  there  are  plenty  of  people  worse  off  than 
I  am." 

"That's  not  the  question  at  all.  We're  talk- 
ing about  you,  Gilbert  Staplehurst,  and  we  don't 
want  a  lot  of  other  people  brought  into  it. 


Besides,  if  you  lose  this  chance,  you'll  be  sorry 
for  it.  It  will  never  come  again.  Now  is  your 
time.  Make  haste." 

"I  don't  want  you  to  think  I'm  not  grateful," 
said  Staplehurst,  with  some  anxiety,  "but  don't 
you  stop.  I'm  only  wasting  your  time.  Besides, 
there's  nothing  that  I  really  require  just  now." 

"You're  too  modest  by  half.  I  can  see  that  I 
shall  have  to  take  this  matter  into  my  own  hands. 
You  said  that  you  wished  you  were  young  again. 
You  evidently  want  a  chance  of  beginning  life 
once  more,  and  of  enjoying  youth  and  happiness, 
and " 

"That  was  only  a  wish,"  explained  Mr.  Staple- 
hurst.  "  If  it  had  been  a  possible  thing,  I  might 
not  have  thought  of  it." 

"  Don't  talk  of  impossible  things  to  me,  sir. 
It  won't  take  me  a  moment.  I'll  do  it,  just  to 
show  you  that  the  gods  can  be  grateful  when  they 
like.  Consider  it  done." 

There  was  a  noise  as  of  the  tubes  being 
replaced  at  the  other  end.  A  delightful  sensar 
tion  of  virility  went  through  Staplehurst's  veins. 
He  let  the  tubes  fall.  The  electric  light  went 
suddenly  out  ;  bright,  fresh  daylight  came  to 
his  eyes,  and  made  him  blink. 


37 


He  stumbled,  and  recovered  himself  quickly. 
In  a  mirror  at  the  opposite  end  of  the  room  he 
had  entered  he  saw  his  reflection;  and  a  very 
pleasant  reflection  it  seemed  to  be — a  young  face 
of  a  lad  of  twenty-two,  plenty  of  dark  hair,  good 
complexion,  in  the  eyes  a  quick,  cheerful  look. 

"  Hullo  !"  he  cried. 

The  carpet  was  nearly  covered  with  slips  of . 
proofs,  "pulls"  of  sketches,  manuscript,  and 
empty  envelopes.  In  the  corner  was  a  waste- 
paper  basket  intended  for  the  reception  of  these 
articles,  but  this  held  three  siphons  of  soda- 
water.  A  large,  square  table  stood  in  the 
middle,  and  this,  too,  was  covered  with  literary 
matter,  but  with  just  a  suspicion  more  of  order 
in  its  disorder.  A  shaded  lamp  depended  from 
the  ceiling;  the  date-case  in  the  corner  was  only 
about  eight  months  behind;  a  huge  Parisian 
advertisement,  by  Cheret,  of  a  capering  damsel 
was  on  one  of  the  walls;  and  piles  of  blazingly 
new  books  stood  like  pyramids  in  three  places. 

The  red,  curly-headed  man  at  the  table  looked 
up  as  Gilbert  entered. 

"Hullo,  Gilbert!"  said  the  man  at  the  table, 
"you're  late  this  morning,  aren't  you?  Where 
have  you  been,  old  chap  ?  " 


CHAPTER  III 

GILBERT  stood  for  a  moment  on  the  doormat 
and  gasped. 

"I've  had  rather  an  upset,"  he  said.  "  I  can't 
explain  it  to  you  exactly,  but " 

"That's  a  good  thing,"  said  the  man  at  the 
table.  "  Start  at  once,  will  you,  with  this  page, 
and  go  through  it  very  carefully.  As  sure  as  my 
name  is  Bradley  Webbe,  we  sha'n't  get  this  thing 
tabled  to-night.  I  am  half  inclined  to  chuck  the 
whole  business  and  run  amok  down  the  Strand." 

Webbe  took  a  cigarette  from  a  tin  box  on  the 
table,  and  lighted  it  at  the  end  of  the  one  which 
he  was  smoking. 

"  Aren't  you  enjoying  life  ?  "  asked  Gilbert. 

"Are  you  ? " 

"I  rather  think,"  said  Gilbert,  glancing  at 
himself  in  the  mirror  with  increased  satisfaction, 
"  that  I'm  going  to  enjoy  it  very  much  indeed." 

"Ah,"  said  Webbe  grudgingly,  "you're 
young.  You  don't  know  what  it  is  to  be  thirty- 
odd." 


39 

"  Don't  I  ?  " 

"Thank  your  stars  that  you  don't,  Gilbert. 
Make  the  most  of  your  time  now.  I've  been  in 
a  lot  of  places  in  my  time,  but  I  never  enjoyed 
myself  anywhere  so  much  as  in  the  twenties." 
He  looked  up  from  the  galley-proof  which  he 
was  examining.  "  How  do  you  spell  furieuse- 
ment,  Gilbert?  The  chap  who  writes  this  column 
uses  the  phrase  every  week,  'fa  donne furieusement 
d  penser.'  I  wish  to  goodness  these  fellows 
would  stick  to  the  English  language." 

Gilbert  gave  the  information. 

"Have  you  had  your  monthly  check  yet?" 
demanded  Webbe. 

"Not  yet." 

"It  will  be  in  to-night,  thank  the  Lord!  I 
want  mine;  you're  different." 

A  sudden  fear  came  over  the  new  young  man. 
He  had  little  desire  to  start  life  again  with  no 
money  at  all  in  his  pockets,  and  he  went  hastily 
through  them  to  ascertain  the  extent  of  his  re- 
sources. To  his  great  relief,  he  found  that  the 
few  sovereigns  which  were  in  his  dress  waistcoat 
before  the  change  had  been  transferred  to  his 
present  more  free-and-easy  tweed  suit. 

"Scott  !"  cried  Webbe. 


40 


"What's  up?" 

"You  with  five  pounds  in  your  pocket,  and 
to-day  pay-day  !  "  The  amazed  Bradley  Webbe 
affected  to  fall  limp  with  astonishment.  "  My 
boy,  you're  becoming  miserly." 

"It's  just  as  well  to  look  after  money,  Webbe; 
you  can't  trust  it  to  look  after  itself.  Young  fel- 
lows squander  their  cash  a  great  deal  too  freely; 
if  they  would  only  save  a  little  in  their  early 
youth,  it  would  be  so  much  better  for  them. 
There's  an  old  Scotch  adage " 

A  "Whittaker's  Almanac"  caught  the  young 
lecturer  on  the  arm  and  made  him  cease. 

"  I  can  stand  a  lot  of  things,"  said  Webbe 
definitely,  "but  I  can  not  and  will  not  stand 
Scotch  adages.  Ring  the  bell,  will  you  ? " 

A  small,  bare-headed,  sombre-looking  boy  came 
in  and  took  the  slips  which  Webbe  handed  to  him. 

"Wait  a  moment,  boy;  Mr.  Gilbert  is  nearly 
ready." 

"Sha'n't  be  one  minute,"  said  Gilbert. 
"How's  your  mother,  youngster?" 

"Don't  you  begin  chipping  me,  sir,"  said  the 
small  boy  moodily.  "I've  got  plenty  to  worry 
me  without  being  chaffed.  It's  a  licker  to  me 
how  I  get  through  it  all." 


"Cheer  up,  Barling,"  said  Webbe  encourag- 
ingly. 

"It's  all  very  well  to  say  'cheer  up,'"  said 
Master  Barling,  which  increased  gloom;  "it's 
another  fing  to  go  and  jolly  well  do  it." 

"I  perceive,"  said  Webbe,  placing  one  leg  over 
the  arm  of  his  chair,  "that  Miss  Tomkins  has 
been  unkind." 

"Onkind!"  repeated  the  small  Barling 
crossly — "  onkind,  you  call  it  ?  If  you  awsk 
me,  I  should  call  it  croolty  to  animals  !  'Ere's 
me  takin'  that  girl  out  Sunday  after  Sunday, 
givin'  of  'er  ices  and  chocolates  and  every  thing 
the  'eart  can  wish  for,  and  lawst  Sunday  what 
does  she  do  but  strolls  out  as  cool  as  you  like 
with  [Master  Barling  gasped]  'Erry  Rogers  !  " 

"Barling,"  said  Bradley  Webbe  with  assump- 
tion of  much  interest,  "surely  you  are  not  telling 
the  truth." 

"It's  gawspel,"  said  the  boy,  " gawspel.  Goes 
out  with  'Erry  Rogers,  that  works  round  'ere  at 
Spottiswoode's;  a  chap — he  ain't  fifteen — a  chap 
that  can't  smoke  and  don't  know  a  race-'orse 
from  a  blooming  'air-pin."  Master  Barling 
rubbed  his  nose  with  the  vague,  wistful  air  of  a 
man  who  cannot  understand  the  orderings  of 


Providence.  "But  I  know  one  thing  and  that 
ain't  two.  That  girl " 

"  Miss  Tomkins  ?  " 

11  That's  'er,  sir.  She  can  go  down  on  'er 
bended  knees  and  beg  and  pray  of  me  to  keep 
company  wif  'er  again,  but " — Master  Barling 
frowned  severely — "never  no  more.  Once  bit, 
twice  shy.  She'll  be  sorry  for  it  some  day.  The 
time  '11  come  when  she " 

"Here  you  are,  Barling,"  said  Gilbert,  handing 
over  the  corrected  proofs. 

"  Thank  you,  sir."  Master  Barling  came  over 
and  whispered  confidentially  to  Gilbert.  "  Miss 
Reade  is  down  stairs,  sir." 

"Really?" 

"  Talking  to  Mr.  Besterton,  sir.  Thought  I'd 
mention  it." 

"You  did  quite  right,"  said  the  mystified 
Gilbert.  And  the  small  boy  went. 

"  You  might  write  a  story  on  that,"  suggested 
Webbe,  looking  up  from  his  writing.  "That 
would  rather  suit  your  style,  Gilbert." 

"Oh,"  said  Gilbert,    "that's  my  style,  is  it?" 

"It's  a  style,"  said  Webbe  candidly,  "that,  as 
you  know,  /can't  get  over." 

"Too  lofty?" 


43 


"Oh,  dear,  no!    But  still  some  people  like  it." 

"I'm  glad." 

"And  I  dare  say  you'll  improve  as  you  get 
older." 

"That's  something  to  look  forward  to,  isn't 
it?" 

"Where  you're  lucky  is  in  having  the  Proprie- 
tor on  your  side.  And  you've  no  relatives  to 

borrow  money  from  you,  and In  fact, 

Gilbert,  you're  a  deucedly  fortu-nate  fellow 
altogether." 

"  Hooray  !  "  remarked  Gilbert  calmly. 

"  Did  that  boy  say  that  Kittie  Reade  was 
down  stairs  ?  She's  really  an  exceedingly  good 
sort.  Clever,  too,  in  her  way.  Her  mother  is 
tiresome,  but  some  people  are  very  unfortunate 
in  the  parents  they  choose.  There's  a  subject 
for  you.  Do  for  a  turnover  for  the  Globe — '  The 
Choice  of  Mothers.' ' 

"How  old  should  you  say  Miss  Reade  was, 
Webbe?" 

"You  mean  is." 

"Yes." 

"I  should  say  that  at  her  next  birthday  she 
would  score  twenty-two " 

"Twenty-three  and  not  out,"  said  a  cheerful 


44 

young  lady  at  the  doorway.  "If  you  will  leave 
your  door  open,  and  if  you  will  talk  about  ladies' 
ages,  why " 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Bradley  Webbe, 
rising  from  his  chair  hastily.  "  I  didn't  know 
you  were  there,  Miss  Reade." 

"I  can  quite  believe  that."  She  turned  to 
Gilbert.  "And  how  are  you?"  she  asked  in  a 
lower  tone  of  voice. 

"I  haven't  felt  better  for  years,"  declared 
Gilbert  joyously.  "  I  am  altogether  like  a  new 
man." 

"I'm  glad  you've  changed,"  said  Miss  Reade 
quietly.  "You  said  some  unkind  things  last 
night  at  the  Stewarts'." 

"  Did  I  ?     I  didn't  mean  them." 

Her  pretty  face  brightened  up  at  once.  She 
placed  the  large  envelope  on  the  table,  opened 
it,  and  took  out  the  slips  which  it  contained. 
She  handed  them  to  Bradley  Webbe. 

"What  I  like  about  'Marianne's'  columns  is 
that  they're  always  up  to  time,"  said  Webbe. 
"  It's  never  a  case  of  '  It  cometh  not,  she  said,' 
with  this  '  Marianne.'  " 

"I  am  a  most  reliable  young  woman,"  said 
Miss  Reade.  "I  always  keep  my  promises. 


45 


This  stuff  signed  '  Marianne '  comes  here  on 
Wednesdays;  on  Fridays  I  have  a  column  for 
a  Sunday  paper  ;  on  Mondays  my  column  is 
ready  for  the  other  journal.  And  short  stories 
thrown  in! " 

"You  must  earn  very  good  money,"  said 
Gilbert. 

"The  money  is  good,"  she  said  quaintly, 
"but  there  is  not  always  quite  enough  of  it. 
Parents  cost  a  good  deal  of  money  in  one  way 
and  another." 

She  sighed  a  little. 

"  The  pulls  of  your  drawings  will  be  here  in  a 
few  minutes,  Miss  Reade,"  said  Webbe,  "if  you 
don't  mind  waiting." 

"  Are  you  sure  I  shall  not  be  in  the  way  ?" 

"We  like  you  to  be  in  the  way,"  remarked 
Gilbert. 

She  flushed  and  gave  a  comical  little  bow. 

"How  well  some  of  these  youths  do  pay 
compliments,  don't  they?"  said  Bradley  Webbe 
admiringly.  "I  used  to  have  a  good  manner 
with  me  when  I  was  younger,  but  Gilbert  beats 
me  easily.  I  believe  he  studies  '  Guides  to  Eti- 
quette '  and  'How  the  Upper  Ten  Behave,'  and 
books  like  that !  Am  I  right  ?  " 


46 


"You  are  exhibiting  all  your  usual  accuracy," 
said  Gilbert  readily.  He  turned  to  the  girl  in 
the  office  chair.  "Where  are  you  going  to- 
morrow evening,  I  wonder  ? " 

"  I  shall  be  at  home,"  she  said.  "  If  you  were 
kind  you  would  call  and  talk  to  mother  for  an 
hour.  Or  let  her  talk  to  you." 

"I  wish  you'd  write  down  the  address,"  said 
Gilbert,  "  here  on  this  slip.  I  always  forget 
numbers." 

-  "Thought  you  had  a  good  head  for  figures," 
remarked  Webbe,  as  Miss  Reade  took  the  pencil 
from  her  chatelaine  and  wrote.  "You  talked  a 
good  deal  about  Mrs.  Brentford's." 

Miss  Reade  looked  up  quickly. 

"  Do  you  know  Mrs.  Brentford  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Very  slightly,"  declared  Gilbert  warily.  "  Is 
this  the  full  address  ?  No.  48  Alpha  Terrace, 
Regent's  Park." 

The  boy  came,  in  reply  to  Webbe's  ring,  with 
the  pulls  of  the  costume  pictures  which  were  to 
accompany  the  ladies'  page.  Barling  touched 
his  forehead  respectfully  to  Miss  Reade,  and 
that  young  lady  looked  with  care  at  the  impres- 
sions. 

"That  evening-dress  sketch  hasn't  come  out 


47 


very  well,"  she  said,  "but  it  was  not  my  best 
work.  This  walking  costume  is  right  enough, 
but  I  haven't  got  the  trick  of  drawing  for  reduc- 
tion yet." 

"You  always  recognize  your  own  faults," 
remarked  Bradley  Webbe,  taking  up  his  hat. 

"  Perhaps  that's  because  there  are  so  few  of 
them,"  remarked  Gilbert. 

"  Isn't  he  simply  perfect  ?"  demanded  Webbe. 
"  Doesn't  he  say  lovely  things,  Miss  Reade  ?" 

"Sometimes,"  said  Miss  Reade.  "Good-by, 
Mr.  Gilbert." 

"  Until  to-morrow  evening,"  said  Gilbert,  hold- 
ing her  hand  for  a  moment.  "I  shall  try  to  call 
round  at  about  eight." 

"Do!"  she  said  warmly.  "Mr.  Webbe,  are 
you  going  to  see  me  into  a  'bus  ?  " 

"That  was  the  idea,"  said  Webbe.  "And  I 
want  to  make  a  call.  I  shall  be  back  in  half  an 
hour,  Gilbert.  You  might  write  something,  if 
you  will,  that  can  be  set  up  for  next  week  in 
case  the  advertisements  don't  come  in  thick. 
Ready,  Miss  Reade  ? " 

They  went  out  and  the  door  closed.  Gilbert 
resumed  his  seat  and  dipped  his  pen  in  the  ink- 
stand. He  was  thinking  ;  thinking  a  good  deal 


of  the  young  lady  who  had  just  left ;  he  was 
wondering,  too,  whether  he  would  find  himself 
able  to  write  with  facility.  He  began  to  write 
the  title. 

"The  Choice  of " 

A  swish  of  skirts  behind  him.  Two  hands 
on  his  eyes.  The  scent  of  a  girl's  hair.  A 
whisper  : 

"Guess  who?" 

She  snatched  up  the  gloves  which  she  had  left 
on  the  table  and  hurried  off.  Gilbert,  in  a  per- 
fect glow  of  delight,  went  to  adjust  his  dishev- 
elled hair  in  the  mirror. 

"This  is  simply  splendid  !"  he  cried  delight- 
edly. "Why,  I'm  in  love  again!" 

He  had  to  walk  up  and  down  and  around  the 
office  several  times  before  composure  returned. 
He  experienced  the  joyful  confusion  of  mind 
that  comes  to  the  youth  whose  heart  is  affected  ; 
a  confusion  which  is  too  well  known  to  every- 
body in  this  world  to  be  here  described  at  length. 
Moreover,  to  attempt  to  do  so  were  only,  per- 
haps, to  expose  the  present  writer's  ignorance 
and  to  bring  upon  him  contumely  from  the 
experienced. 

Gilbert  wrote  as  carefully  as  he  could,  and  it 


49 

gratified  him  to  observe  that  he  retained  the 
facility  that  he  had  enjoyed  in  his  previous  life. 
In  reading  over  the  fourteen  hundred  words 
which  he  managed  to  write  before  Bradley 
Webbe's  return,  one  or  two  conceits  in  the  thing 
almost  made  him  laugh. 

"What  do  you  think  of  that,  Webbe?"  he 
demanded. 

Webbe  looked  it  through  swiftly,  reading  appar- 
ently about  six  words  on  each  page. 

"Best  thing  you've  done;  not  half  bad,"  he 
said,  throwing  it  back.  "I  see  that  there's  a 
Cabinet  Minister  resigned.  We  shall  have  to 
hunt  up  his  portrait." 

It  was  one  of  the  great  delights  of  the  new  life 
to  find  that,  at  lunch  in  the  Strand,  Gilbert  no 
longer  had  to  discriminate  nervously  between 
about  three  light  dishes  from  the  bill  of  fare,  but 
that  he  could  eat  a  good  square  meal  with  relish. 
An  elderly  man,  sitting  at  the  marble  table  oppo- 
site, looked  at  him  enviously  and  sighed,  and 
sipped  at  the  lime  juice  at  his  side. 

"Enjoyed  your  lunch,  sir?"  said  the  pretty 
waitress  respectfully.  She  brought  three  cigars 
in  a  wine-glass,  and  brushed  the  crumbs  from 
the  table-cloth. 


5° 

"I  haven't  enjoyed  one  to  such  an  extent," 
declared  Gilbert,  "for  twenty  years." 

The  pretty  waitress  laughed  so  much  that  she 
had  to  put  her  hair  straight. 

"You  young  gentlemen  do  exaggerate,"  she 
said  amusedly  ;  "one  never  knows  whether  you 
are  speaking  the  truth  or  not.  I  don't  believe 
you  know  yourselves  half  your  time." 

"Give  me  a  light,  Miss — Miss " 

"  My  name's  Miss  Bangs,"  she  said,  giving 
him  the  match,  "B-a-n-g-s." 

"It's  a  very  charming  name,"  said  Gilbert 
pleasantly. 

"It's  a  short  name,"  confessed  Miss  Bangs; 
"it  has  that  drawback." 

"  Oh,  that  doesn't  matter.  You  won't  use  it 
long,  I  expect." 

Miss  Bangs  looked  around  to  see  if  any  one 
else  was  demanding  her  attention.  Every-body 
was  apparently  content,  and  Miss  Bangs  twisted 
her  fringe  and  patted  the  white  pinafore  covering 
the  bodice  of  her  black  dress,  and  smiled  vaguely 
at  an  advertisement  of  a  new  kind  of  ginger- 
beer. 

"Well,"  she  said,  "it  doesn't  become  a  girl  to 
brag,  but  I  must  say  I've  had  chances  that  many 


another  girl  would  have  jumped  at.  There's 
a  gentleman  now  that  mother's  always  urging 
me  to  marry  ;  he's  foreman  in  a  warehouse — at 
least,  he  isn't  exactly  foreman,  but  he's  very  near 
to  it — but,"  Miss  Bangs  sighed,  "/don't  know." 
Miss  Bangs  glanced  with  something  like  admira- 
tion at  the  good-looking  fellow  to  whom  she  was 
speaking.  "What  I  think  you  want  is  a  loving 
heart,"  said  Miss  Bangs. 

"There's  something  in  that,"  agreed  Gilbert, 
"but  it  is  necessary  to  be  circumspect.  And 
those  of  us  who  are  young  should  lose  no  oppor- 
tunity of  endeavoring  to  find  the  one " 

"All  right,  sir,"  said  Miss  Bangs,  to  an  impa- 
tient customer.  "I'll  bring  you  some  house- 
hold bread  in  half  a  minute." 

Gilbert  discovered  his  own  address  in  a  book 
at  the  Budget  office,  and  when  Bradley  Webbe 
told  him  he  might  go,  he  went  outside  a  'bus 
from  St.  Martin's  Lane  to  Bloomsbury  in  order 
to  see  what  the  place  was  like.  He  found  that 
Doughty  Street  was  a  good  broad  street  and 
quiet,  not  far  from  the  Foundling,  and  his 
number  looked  even  neater  than  the  rest  of  the 
houses.  The  landlady,  sitting  at  the  window  of 
the  ground-floor  room,  bowed  genially  to  him 


52 

over  the  wire  blind,  and  he  opened  the  door 
with  the  latch-key  that  he  found  in  his  pocket. 
In  the  hall  was  a  bust  of  William  Pitt  with  some 
one's  straw  hat  set  atop;  a  terra-cotta  bust  of 
Clytie,  and  a  well-filled  hat-stand. 

"I  was  just  goidg  up  to  your  roob,  sir,"  said 
the  small,  neat  servant  with  a  cold  in  her  head. 
"  I  was  takig  up  this  bustard  to  put  id  the 
cruet." 

"Go  on,  Ermyntrude,"  said  Gilbert. 

"Jade,  sir." 

"I  prefer  to  call  you  Ermyntrude  for  short." 

It  was  really  a  very  pleasant  room.  Two 
windows  looking  out  on  the  street,  a  bedroom 
communicating,  plenty  of  books  about,  a  few 
ferns,  an  open  piano. 

"Bistress's  cobplibedts,  sir,"  said  the  small 
servant,  "and  will  you  dide  id  to-dight  or  dot?" 

"I  rather  think  I  will  dine  in,  to-night,"  said 
Gilbert,  "  if  you  can  let  me  have  something  soon. 
I  want  to  go  out  again." 

"Goidg  to  a  busic-hall,  sir?"  asked  the  small 
girl  as  she  laid  the  cloth. 

"  I  might,  perhaps." 

It  seemed  a  sparkish,  youthful  thing  to  do; 
consonant  with  the  acts  of  juvenility. 


53 

"I  wedt  last  week,  sir,"  said  the  small  servant, 
placing  a  serviette  on  the  table,  "and  /  dever 
saw  adythidg  so  abusidg  id  all  the  days  of  by 
life.  They  did  carry  od.  I  believe  it  does  ady 
body  good  to  have  a  bit  of  ad  outidg  dow  add 
agaid.  What  I  bead  to  say  is,  it  wakes  you  up, 
dod't  it  ?  Have  you  dode  with  your  evedig 
paper,  sir  ?  I'll  take  it  dowd  to  bistress.  She 
likes  to  have  a  look  through,  just  to  read  the 
burders." 

Gilbert,  dining  from  an  excellent  joint  of  beef, 
with  a  bottle  of  Beaune  at  his  side,  caught  sight 
of  himself  in  the  large,  shining  sideboard  at  the 
end  of  the  room,  and  stopping  for  a  while,  leaned 
back  in  his  chair  and  laughed  out  of  sheer  joy- 
ousness. 

"This  is  delightful !  "  he  cried. 

He  busied  himself  after  dinner  in  opening  the 
drawers  of  the  sideboard  and  gaining  some  idea 
of  the  extent  of  his  possessions.  For  the  small 
drawer  in  the  writing-desk  he  could  not  find 
a  key,  and  he  had  to  leave  that  unopened. 
When  he  had  finished  his  tour  he  sat  down  in  the 
deep,  easy  chair,  took  from  the  convenient  rack 
a  pipe,  and  with  some  hesitation  began  to  smoke. 

"  I've  only  had  mild  cigarettes  lately,"  he  said, 


54 

"  I  don't  quite  know  whether  I  ought  to  venture 
on " 

But  the  pipe,  like  every  thing  else,  was  excel- 
lent to  the  taste  of  the  young  man.  It  soothed 
him,  too,  and  as  he  sat  there  he  looked  hard  at 
a  portrait  of  a  scarlet-faced  general  on  the  wall 
and  thought. 

"I'm  going  to  make  ;.his  a  successful  game," 
said  Gilbert,  between  the  puffs,  "and  of  course 
I  am  going  to  enjoy  life  as  well.  With  my 
experience  I  shall  be  able  to  avoid  a  good  many 
of  the  blunders  that  are  made  by  ordinary  young 
men.  I  don't  see,"  he  placed  one  foot  hard 
against  the  side  of  the  mantle-piece,  "  I  really 
don't  see  why  I  shouldn't  do  uncommonly  well." 

"Fidished  your  didder,  sir  ?  "  asked  the  small 
maid,  reappearing  at  the  door. 

"Yes,  thank  you,  Ermyntrude.  Oh,  and  I 
say,  what  time  do  the  music-halls  open  ?" 

"About  half-past  seved,"  said  Jane.  "  We 
got  id  early,  by  fred  id  the  Arby  ad  be,  because 
we  wadted  to  have  our  bodeys  worth.  But  a 
gedtlebad  like  you  would  just  stroll  id  about 
half-past  eight.  By  word,  you  do  see  sobe 
swells  there,  too.  You  are  goidg,  sir  ? " 

"  I  feel  that  nothing  in  this  world,  Ermyntrude, 


55 


is.  just  now  of  any  importance  except  a  music- 
hall.  My  heart's  desire  is  to  go  to  a  music-hall. 
Until  I  have  been  to  a  music-hall,  life  has  for  me 
absolutely  no  attractions." 

"I  see  what  you  bead,  sir,"  said  the  small 
maid,  taking  the  tray. 

"I  can  get  in  at  the  front  door  all  right  at 
midnight,  can't  I  ?  " 

"Bid-dight  or  bid-day,"  said  Ermyntrude, 
with  some  acerbity,  "is  all  the  sabe  at  this 
blessed  place." 

The  music-hall  was  a  revelation  to  Gilbert. 
He  remembered  that  the  last  time  he  went  to 
one,  he  had  been  bored  almost  to  tears  by  the 
persistent  idiocy  of  the  performance.  He  saw 
at  once  that  there  had  been  a  considerable  im- 
provement, but  there  was,  he  knew,  an  improve- 
ment also  in  himself,  and  the  good  temper  of 
every  one  affected  his  young  head  sympathetic- 
ally. When  the  song-and-dance  lady  came  on, 
Gilbert  found  himself  applauding,  as  vehemently 
as  the  rest  of  the  folk  in  the  circle,,  the  not  too 
abstruse  song  and  the  not  too  demure  dance 
which  she  gave. 

"  This  is  the  chap  what  '11  give  you  fits,"  said  a 
youth  with  a  huge  meerschaum  cigar-holder,  in 


the  next  seat.  The  number  was  being  changed 
to  a  large  "9"  by  a  magnificent  footman. 
Through  the  slight  haze  of  smoke  Gilbert  noticed 
the  boy  distributing  fresh  books  of  music  to  the 
hard-working  orchestra.  "  He's  a  fair  knock- 
out, this  chap  is.  I  saw  him  once  "aving  a  drink 
just  like  you  or  me  might  at  a  bar,  and  to  look  at 
him  you'd  never  guess  he  raked  in  fifty  of  the 
best  every  week  !  " 

"  Fifty  pounds  ?  " 

"  Fifty  solid  pounds,"  said  the  informative 
youth  with  the  meerschaum  cigar-holder. 
"  Fifty  solid  blooming  sovereigns  every  bloom- 
ing week  of  his  blooming  life." 

The  bell  rang,  the  orchestra  played  a  sym- 
phony. It  began  to  play  it  again,  and  as  it  did 
so,  a  man  came  on  in  a  confused  uniform,  with  a 
red  nose,  blue  hair  ;  a  sword  between  his  legs. 

"  '  Oh,  I  am  a  volunteer  officer  bold, 
I'm  always  the  first  on  parade  ; 
If  sometimes  I  catch  just  a  bit  of  a  cold, 
I  don't  care  ;  I'm  never  afraid.'  " 

A  small  white  cat  strolled  on  the  stage  and 
the  comedian  affected  extreme  fear.  "Take  it 
away,  man.  You  there  with  the  calves.  Drag 


57 


this     'orrible "     The     magnificent     footman 

came  on  and  took  away  the  small  white  cat. 
The  hall  roared  at  the  carefully  prepared  joke, 
and  the  red-nosed  man  marched  to  the  chorus, 

'"When  the  enemy  comes  over,  you  will  find  me  down  at 

Dover  ; 

I  shall  only  have  to  look  at  them  and  they  will  surely  flee. 
I  shall  argue  with  them  kindly;  then  run  away  quite  blindly. 
If  there's  any  body  wounded,  why '  " 

(with  much  determination) 

'"it  won't  be  me  !'" 

Then  a  long  string  of  preposterous  patter,  at 
which  Gilbert  found  himself  laughing  as  loudly 
as  any  one. 

He  enjoyed,  too,  the  musical  clowns  who 
played  on  every  thing  excepting  musical  instru- 
ments, and  the  precocious  infant  in  evening  dress 
who  sang, 

"  '  We  are  the  boys  that  make  a  noise, 
At  three  o'clock  in  the  morning.' " 

The  large,  de'collete'e  lady  who  sang  songs  of  un- 
certain sentiment  about  leaving  her  own  sailor 
boy,  who'd  gone  across  the  sea  ;  the  bicyclist, 
who,  at  the  end  of  his  ten  minutes'  turn  during 


which  he  had  bit  by  bit  discarded  his  bicycle, 
rode  round  on  half  of  one  wheel  of  his  machine 
without  the  spokes;  the  girls  with  raucous  voices 
and  amazing  vitality  who  shouted  till  they 
themselves  were  hoarse,  and  kicked  till  every 
one  else  was  tired.  Gilbert  liked  them  all. 

The  gas  was  out  in  his  room  in  Doughty  Street 
when  he  returned.  He  felt  in  his  waistcoat 
pocket  for  a  light,  and  found  there,  in  addition 
to  a  small  silver  match-box,  a  key.  It  looked 
like  the  key  of  the  small  drawer  in  the  writing- 
desk,  and  he  went  at  once  to  try  it  before  light- 
ing the  gas. 

The  lid  opened,  and  a  long,  narrow,  white- 
covered  book  lay  on  the  top.  It  was  a  bank 
pass-book,  and  Gilbert  struck  a  wax  vesta  and 
turned  over  the  leaves. 

"  Balance  to  credit  account,  ^1852." 

''Well,"  said  Gilbert,  with  great  complacency, 
"  no  one  can  say  that  I  haven't  a  fair  start." 


CHAPTER  IV 

AT  Lord's  the  following  day,  where  Gilbert 
went  to  write  for  the  Budget  a  descriptive  sketch 
of  the  game,  he,  by  the  merest  accident,  met  a 
man  who  apparently  knew  all  about  matters  finan- 
cial. He  was  a  big,  bald  man,  in  a  frock-coat 
that  bulged  unevenly,  and  he  asked  Gilbert,  as 
they  were  standing  under  the  clock,  for  a  match. 
He  lighted  a  long,  expensive-looking  cigar,  and 
puffed  up  at  the  blue  sky  as  though  he  were 
furnishing  the  blue  sky  with  a  new  cloud. 

"What  I  like  about  a  cricket  field,"  said  the 
frock-coated  man  expansively,  "is  that  every- 
body's hail-fellow-well-met.  Now,  that's  me  all 
the  world  over.  I  like  to  look  upon  every  one  of 
my  fellow-men  as  a  friend,  but  hang  it,  sir,  how 
am  I  met  ?  Eh  ?  How  am  I  met  ?  " 

Gilbert,  with  the  modesty  of  youth,  hesitated 
to  offer  a  solution. 

"Why,"  said  the  frock-coated  man  fiercely, 
"by  suspicion,  by  doubt,  by  hesitation,  by  want 
of  confidence,  by,  in  short,  a  general  exhibition 


6o 


of  those  confounded  traits  that  are  sending  old 
England  to  the  dogs." 

He  looked  out  at  the  play.  "Well  fielded, 
sir,  well  fielded  ! "  he  shouted  approvingly.  He 
turned  again  to  Gilbert. 

"  Sending  the  good  old  country  to  the  dogs, 
sir,"  he  repeated. 

"You  think  that  is  so?"  enquired  Gilbert 
respectfully. 

"Good  gad,  sir,"  cried  the  other  explosively; 
"  I  don't  think.  I  never  do  think — I  know  /" 

"  That,  of  course,"  said  Gilbert  apologetically, 
"  makes  all  the  difference." 

"Perhaps  you're  not  an  army  man  yourself," 
suggested  the  frock-coated  man. 

"  I  labor  under  the  disadvantage  of  not  being 
an  army  man." 

"Ah  !"  said  the  frock-coated  man,  "as  I  ex- 
pected. As  I  expected.  There's  a  lack  of  de- 
cision about  civilians  that  always  betrays  them. 
Now  I'm  a  man  who  always  hits  the  nail  right  on 
the  head." 

"Very  good  place  to  hit  it,"  said  Gilbert. 

"Right  on  the  head,  sir,"  he  repeated  insist- 
ently. "I  remember  in  the  old  days  at  mess,  if 
there  was  any  dispute  on  any  subject  the  boys 


6r 


always  said,  '  Where's  Dann  ?  Go  and  find 
Dann,  somebody.  He'll  settle  it.'  And  by  gad, 
sir,  what  Captain  Dann  couldn't  settle,  wasn't 
worth  settling." 

"  There's  room  in  the  world,"  said  Gilbert 
politely,  ''for  men  with  heads." 

"I'm  in  the  City  now,"  said  Captain  Dann, 
sending  another  cloud  up  to  the  sky,  "and  a 
pretty  set  they  are  there  ? " 

"  You  don't  mean  in  a  physical  way  ?  " 

"When  I  say  a  pretty  set,"  said  Captain  Dann, 
behind  his  hand  confidentially,  "  I  mean  a  pretty 
bad  set.  Some  of  them  will  get  stopped  at  it 
some  day,  you  mark  my  words.  Things  can't 
go  on  for  ever  as  they  are  going  on  now.  There 
must  be  a  stop  sooner  or  later.  Do  you  take 
any  interest  in  business  matters,  sir  ?" 

"  I  shall  have  to  take  a  little." 

"  There  are  several  things  being  floated  in  the 
City  now  that  will  never  swim.  They'll  never 
swim,  sir.  They'll  sink  as  soon  as  they  are 
launched." 

"Hard  on  the  subscribers." 

"I've  no  pity  for  them,"  declared  Captain 
Dann  obstinately.  "No  pity  for  them  at  all. 
If  they'd  only  come  and  ask  some  of  us  we  could 


62 


warn  them  where  they  should  not  invest,  and  we 
could  do  more  than  that." 

"Tell  them  where  they  should  invest  ?  " 

"  By  gad,  sir,  you've  hit  it  at  once.  You've 
got  an  old  head  on  young  shoulders,  I  can  see. 
Tell  them  where  they  should  invest.  That 
precisely  describes  it." 

"  I  want  to  invest  a  little  money  in  something 
safe  at  about  five  per  cent.  It's  in  the  bank  at 
present,  and  I  see  they  only  give  me  two." 

"All  banks,  sir,"  said  Captain  Dann,  "are 
swindles." 

"  And  if  there's  any  thing  going  shortly  that  is 
really  safe,  and  promises  a  fair  dividend,  I  shall 
transfer  some  of  it." 

The  man  at  the  Nursery  end  cut  a  ball  to  leg. 
It  was  a  boundary  hit,  and  the  lookers-on  ap- 
plauded in  the  modest  manner  that  is  usual  at 
Lord's.  Captain  Dann  offered  his  cigar-case. 

"  Some  of  the  best,  sir,"  he  said.  "  Take  one 
and  try  it.  I  like  to  meet  with  young  men  of 
sense.  I  always  argue  that  they  ought  to  be 
encouraged.  Hope  we  shall  meet  again." 

"I  hope  so,  too." 

"  Here's  my  card.  That's  my  address  in  the 
corner.  If  ever  you  want  a  bit  of  advice  from 


a  man  of  the  world  who  knows  the  ropes,  drop 
me  a  line  and  make  an  appointment." 

"You're  very  good,  Captain  Dann." 

"It's  my  nature,"  said  Captain  Dann  excus- 
ingly.  "We  are  what  we  are  in  this  world,  and 
there's  no  getting  away  from  that.  You  can't 
fight  against  the  eternal  laws  of  Nature,  sir." 

Gilbert  did  not  quite  understand  what  this 
meant,  but  he  said  he  supposed  that  was  so. 

"Nature,"  said  Captain  Dann,  speaking  as 
though  Nature  were  a  prote'ge"  of  his,  whom  he 
was  anxious  to  push  into  prominence — "Nature, 
sir,  won't  be  trifled  with.  You  can't  do  what 
you  like  with  Nature.  Nature  is  one  of  those 
things  that  gets  its  own  way,  and  you  may 
kick,  and  you  may  squeal,  and  you  may  scream, 
but Is  this  your  card  ?  Thanks." 

Captain  Dann  fixed  his  pince-nez  and  read  it 
with  wrinkled  forehead. 

"  '  Doughty  Street,  Bloomsbury,'  "  he  said. 

"A  mere  journalist,"  explained  Gilbert,  "can- 
not afford  to  live  in  Carlton  House  Terrace." 

"A  journalist,  sir,"  exclaimed  Captain  Dann, 
mopping  his  forehead  and  looking  fiercely  at  the 
clock — "a  journalist  follows  the  best  and  the 
noblest  profession  in  the  world,  and  he  can  live 


64 


where  he  deuced  well  pleases.  He  wields  the 
pen  that  carries  the  news  of  England's  greatness 
to — er — all  ends  of  the  world.  All  ends  of  the 
world,  sir.  In  fact,"  here  he  took  Gilbert  con- 
fidentially aside  and  whispered,  "in  fact,  as 
I  once  put  it,  speaking  after  a  dinner  where  some 
press  fellows  were,  the  pen  is  quite  as  mighty, 
in  of  course  a  different  way,  as  the — er — sword." 

He  shook  hands  with  much  pleasantness  and 
told  Gilbert  that  he  believed  Gilbert  was  going 
to  make  his  mark  in  the  world.  He  said  "good- 
day  "  several  times  over,  and  went  away  toward 
the  exit  gate  into  St.  John's  Wood  Road  hum- 
ming a  cheerful  tune,  and  leaving  Gilbert  with 
a  vague  feeling  of  gratification. 

Gilbert  strolled  along  to  the  press-box,  and 
from  a  good-natured  youth  there  obtained  one 
or  two  facts.  He  noted  also  a  few  incidents  on 
the  ground;  listened  to  the  talk  of  a  few  habitue's, 
and  then  felt  secure  in  having  obtained  all  the 
solid  matter  that  was  necessary.  Too  many 
facts  always  hamper  a  descriptive  writer. 

"I  wonder  whether  there  is  any  body  here 
whom  I  know  ? "  he  said  to  himself. 

It  was  the  one  circumstance  in  this  new  life 
of  his  which  was  disconcerting.  The  only  plan 


was  to  nod  to  folk  who  nodded  to  him,  and  to 
reciprocate  any  and  every  sign  of  amiability. 
When,  therefore,  he  found  himself,  just  as  he  was 
about  to  leave  the  ground,  hailed  by  an  insistent 
voice,  he  turned  at  once,  and  finding  that  the 
owner  of  the  voice  was  a  smartly  dressed,  attrac- 
tive lady  standing  up  in  a  landau,  he  raised  his  hat. 

"  Come  here  at  once,  Mr.  Gilbert  !  "  cried  the 
attractive  lady.  "How  dare  you  leave  without 
saying  '  How  d'you  do  ?'  to  me  ?" 

"Mrs.  Brentford  is  not  in  the  habit  of  being 
overlooked,"  remarked  languidly  a  stout  youth, 
standing  with  one  foot  on  the  step. 

"  I  am  very  pleased  to  say  '  How  d'you  do  ? " 
said  Gilbert.  "  What  is  the  answer  to  the  ques- 
tion ?" 

"The  answer  is  that  I  am  very  much  an- 
noyed," said  Mrs.  Brentford,  with  a  comic  affec- 
tation of  wrath.  "Why  didn't  you  come  to 
my  last  At  Home,  Mr.  Gilbert?  Why  should 
women  any  longer  be  trampled  upon  by  brutes 
in  the  guise  of  men  ?  Is  it  of  any  use  writing  to 
the  Times,  I  wonder,  or  shall  I  get  a  member  to 
move  the  adjournment  of  the  House  ?  " 

"I  wouldn't  take  any  hasty  steps,"  said  Gil- 
bert.    "The  fact  of  the  matter  is,  I  have  been 
5 


66 


very  busy  lately  over  an — an  unexpected  stroke 
of  luck." 

"Come  next  Thursday,  then,"  said  Mrs. 
Brentford.  "  Bring  Bradley  Webbe." 

"Shall  I  dress  in  sackcloth  and  ashes,  Mrs. 
Brentford  ? " 

"  It  is  not  a  fancy-dress  affair.  You  know 
Mr.  Lancing,  the  artist,  I  think  ?" 

Mr.  Lancing,  the  stout  youth,  shook  hands, 
high  in  the  air,  and  sighed  after  the  exertion  as 
though  it  had  nearly  exhausted  him. 

"  Oxford  man  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Lancing. 

"  Don't  think  so,"  said  Gilbert. 

"Ah!  "  said  Mr.  Lancing  compassionately. 

"Tell  me  exactly  how  the  game  is  now,  Mr. 
Gilbert;  and  then  we  will  go.  I  can  give  you  a 
lift  as  far  as  civilization." 

Gilbert  did  as  he  was  desired.  She  seemed 
a  very  agreeable  person,  and  the  fact  that  she 
spoke  with  restraint  to  the  stout  Lancing  served 
to  accentuate  her  amiability.  She  was,  perhaps, 
nearly  thirty  (which  is  by  some  considered  to  be 
the  only  real  crime  that  a  woman  can  commit); 
but  the  new  youth  did  not  consider  that  a  draw- 
back. It  gave  her  a  genial  elder-sister  air  that 
was  not  displeasing. 


67 


"  Home,"  said  Mrs.  Brentford. 

A  quiet,  confidential  chat  on  the  way  down  to 
Marble  Arch,  that  by  adroit  management  on  the 
part  of  Gilbert  gave  him  a  deal  of  information,  and 
helped  to  place  him  to  some  extent  au  courant. 

"I  consider,"  said  Mrs.  Brentford,  touching 
his  hand  with  her  parasol,  "  that  you  have  good 
prospects,  Mr.  Gilbert,  if  you  are  only  careful." 

"Oh,  I  shall  be  careful!" 

"  You  do  hear  of  young  men  doing  such  stupid 
things,  though.  There  seems  to  come  a  moment 
in  their  lives  when  they  throw  all  discretion,  all 
common  sense,  to  the  winds." 

"It's  very  silly  of  them,  Mrs.  Brentford." 

"  Usually,"  said  Mrs.  Brentford  hesitatingly, 
"it's  over  some  girl.  Some  chit  of  a  girl,  on 
whom  the  rest  of  the  world  looks  quite  calmly, 
suddenly  appears  on  the  scene,  and  turns  the 
poor  young  man's  head  completely  round." 

She  smoothed  the  lap  of  her  dress,  and  glanced 
at  a  well-dressed  woman  driving  by. 

"Still,"  urged  Gilbert  respectfully,  "  there  are 
men  whose  heads  are  screwed  on  the  right  way." 

"  I  hope  so." 

"  Hasn't  experience  told  you  that,  Mrs. 
Brentford  ? " 


68 


"I  can't  say  that  it  has.  Poor  Mr.  Brentford 
was  one  of  the  queerest  of  men.  He  had  the 
most  eccentric  ways  of  running  abroad,  and  run- 
ning to  Scotland,  and  running  to  America;  and 
I  don't  know  where  he  didn't  run.  He  was 
never  happy  at  home." 

"I  can't  understand  that,"  said  Gilbert. 

Mrs.  Brentford  gave  Gilbert  one  of  her  im- 
pressive looks,  and  then  looked  down  shyly  at 
her  small  shoes  and  sighed.  She  was  certainly 
a  striking  woman,  and  the  air  of  half-condescen- 
sion, half-protection,  with  which  she  treated 
Gilbert  somehow  gratified  the  youth  exceed- 
ingly. 

"I  shall  be  seeing  some  influential  people  this 
evening — people  who  have  to  do  with  the " — 
Mrs.  Brentford  whispered  the  name  of  a  great 
journal;  "and,  if  you  care  for  it,  I  should  like 
to  speak  of  you  and  your  work." 

"That's  exceedingly  kind  of  you,"  said  Gil- 
bert enthusiastically.  "  I  want  to  get  on  in  the 
world,  and  I've  made  up  my  mind  not  to  lose 
any  chance  of  doing  so.  That's  the  only  way,  / 
think.  It  is  by  missing  opportunities  for  hitting 
that  you  find,  when  you  are  bowled  out,  your 
score  is  not  worth  mentioning." 


69 


"  You're  quite  right — quite  right.  And  be  sure 
to  remember  one  thing." 

"That  is?" 

"That  you  have  a  good  friend  in  me.  I'll  do 
all  I  can  to  help  you." 

"I  can't  thank  you  enough,"  said  Gilbert 
honestly.  "I  don't  know  why  you  should  take 
so  much  interest  in  me;  but  that  only  makes  me 
the  more  grateful.  If  I  can  ever  show  you  how 
sincerely " 

"You  see,"  she  said  hastily,  "women  are  so 
much  more  business-like  nowadays  than  they 
were.  At  one  time  they  were  a  quantite"  negli- 
geable  in  the  serious  business  of  life;  but  that  is 
changed." 

"I'm  glad." 

"  Men  no  longer  make  faces  at  women  who 
interest  themselves  in  affairs;  unless,  of  course, 
the  women  are  silly,  and  I — well,  I'm  not  silly." 

"The  reverse." 

"Shall  we  walk  across  Hyde  Park,"  she 
asked,  "and  send  the  carriage  home?  I  am  in 
the  mood  for  a  talk  with  you." 

Gilbert  looked  at  his  watch. 

"I  can  listen  to  you  for  half  an  hour,"  he  said. 
"I  wish  I  could  do  so  for  half  a  century." 


"You  say  things,"  said  Mrs.  Brentford,  stop- 
ping the  carriage,  "  that  you  don't  mean." 

"I  mean  a  good  many  things  that  I  dare  not 
say,"  answered  Gilbert. 

"  Hush  !  "  said  Mrs.  Brentford. 

It  was  too  early  for  the  gathering  of  enter- 
tainers just  within  Marble  Arch;  but  one 
speaker — a  dusty,  demented,  elderly  lady — was 
there,  and  she  was  speaking,  in  a  kind  of  subdued 
scream,  to  one  nursemaid  and  two  boys  and  three 
babies  on  the  injustice  from  which  she  was 
suffering. 

"  Oh,  my  fellow-sufferers  !  "  cried  the  old  lady, 
untying  the  black  strings  of  her  bonnet,  and 
addressing  more  particularly  the  three  babies — 
"oh,  my  fellow-sufferers!  it's  time  some  of  us 
made  a  stand — I  say  it's  time  some  of  us  made  a 
stand.  It's  time  some  of  us  made  a  stand,  and 
put  our  foot  down,  and  let  those  in  'igh  places 
see  once  for  all  that  we  are  not  to  be  trampled 
on.  I  'old  in  my  'and  a  few  papers  bearing  on 
my  case,  and  I  should  like  to  read  you  some 
extracts  in  order  that  you  may  see  exactly  'ow 
I've  been  treated." 

She  placed  the  small  bag  with  no  handle  on  the 
gravel,  and  tipped  her  bonnet  to  the  back  of  her 


head.  She  fixed  one  of  the  white,  fat,  staring 
babies  with  a  serious  eye,  and  the  fat  baby 
seemed  to  make  an  effort  to  enter  into  the  spirit 
of  the  game. 

"  In  the  year  '69,"  began  the  dusty  old  lady — 
"  in  the  year  '69  the  bank  in  which  my  trustees 
'ad  invested  my  money — trustees  whom  I  do 
not  'esitate  to  refer  to  'ere,  in  the  light  of 
day,  as  sheep  in  wolves'  clothing — I  mean  to 
say " 

Gilbert  walked  across  Prince's  Gate  way,  with 
Mrs.  Brentford.  They  were  as  nearly  as  possi- 
ble of  equal  height.  Mrs.  Brentford  walked  with 
the  grace  that  comes  to  those  who  have  not  dis- 
dained exercise  in  the  days  of  early  youth;  a 
rustle,  a  swish  of  silken  flounces,  formed  an 
accompaniment  to  the  musical  chattering  of  her 
voice. 

"It's  hard,  I  suppose,  to  feel  that  one  has  a 
grievance  against  the  world,"  she  said.  "It 
must  keep  one  always  at  a  red-hot  point.  I  think 
every-body  ought  to  be  happy." 

"That  sounds  like  a  good  suggestion,"  said 
Gilbert. 

"If  people  would  only  keep  up  their  spirits " 

"  Isn't   that    rather  like  the  old  story,  Mrs. 


72 


Brentford  ?  The  full  nigger  always  says  to  the 
empty  nigger,  '  Keep  a  good  heart.'  ' 

"  I  suppose  one  ought  not  to  dictate  behavior 
to  others.  I  know  that  even  when  I  had  the 
letter  from  the  Consul  telling  me  of  poor,  dear, 
eccentric  Mr.  Brentford's  death  I " 

"He  died  abroad?" 

Mrs.  Brentford  took  out  an  absurd  belaced 
little  handkerchief. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  "abroad.  He  was  always 
more  or  less  abroad.  A  dear,  good  fellow,  but 
so  odd.  And,  of  course,  it  was  a  great  shock  to 
me,  but  I  didn't  let  it  disturb  me  too  much." 

"  Quite  right,"  said  Gilbert  approvingly. 

"And  although  sometimes,  of  course,  I  feel 
lonely,"  Mrs.  Brentford  sighed,  and  put  the  little 
handkerchief  back  into  its  resting  place,  "still, 
I  don't  allow  the  feeling  to  affect  me  for  long." 

"You  are  well  off  ?  "  guessed  Gilbert. 

"Oh,  yes  !     Oh,  dear,  yes!" 

"'Even  people  who  are  well  off  are  sometimes 
happy." 

"Money,"  said  Mrs.  Brentford,  "is  not  an 
absolute  bar.  How  do  you  do  ? "  Mrs.  Brentford 
bowed  with  an  indulgent  air  to  some  one  who 
was  hastening  across  the  grass  with  a  book  under 


73 


her  arm  to  Hyde  Park  Corner.  The  hastening 
young  person  stopped,  and  the  color  came 
quickly  to  her  pretty  cheeks. 

"  I  can't  stop,"  she  said.  "  How  are  you,  Mr. 
Gilbert  ?  I  have  an  appointment  with  an  editor 
man,  and  you  know  what  they  are  !  " 

"We  won't  detain  you,  Miss  Reade,"  said  Mrs. 
Brentford  politely.  "  Plenty  of  work  ?  " 

"  Miss  Reade  is  always  busy,"  said  Gilbert. 

"It  is  the  better  plan,"  said  the  young  lady 
with  spirit.  "The  idle  folk  get  into  mischief, 
and  then  busy  people  have  to  get  them  out  of  it." 

"A  poet  named  Watts,"  remarked  Gilbert, 
"  has  put  the  same  argument  rather  neatly.  I 
haven't  his  poems  with  me,  but  I  believe  they 
include  a  reference  to  Satan.  Are  you  going 
Strand  way,  Miss  Reade  ?  " 

"'Bus  from  the  corner,"  said  the  young  lady 
promptly. 

"  Then  if  Mrs.  Brentford  doesn't  mind  I  think 
I'll  come  with  you.  You  can  manage  alone,  can't 
you,  Mrs.  Brentford  ? '' 

"  Quite  well,"  she  said. 

"  And  you  won't  forget  to  speak  to  that  man 
about  me?" 

"  I  will  be  sure  not  to  forget.     Good-by." 


74 

They  were  near  to  the  band-stand.  Mrs. 
Brentford  shook  hands,  lifted  her  skirt  slightly, 
and  walked  across  Rotten  Row.  Gilbert  and 
Miss  Reade  turned  east.  They  walked  along  for 
some  little  time  without  speaking,  and  when, 
eventually,  Gilbert  remarked  that  he  had  been  to 
Lord's  to  see  cricket,  his  companion  said,  "  Oh!  " 
as  though  the  statement  interested  her  not  at  all. 
A  long,  tired  man  was  asleep  on  one  of  the  seats 
with  his  legs  extended,  and  Miss  Reade  would 
have  tripped  over  his  feet,  if  Gilbert  had  not 
touched  her  arm. 

"  Please  forgive  me,"  she  said  quickly. 

"For  what?" 

"For  being  a  silly,  humpish  young  person.  It 
only  lasts  two  minutes  with  me." 

"  Two  minutes  is  long  enough." 

"It  is  much  too  long,"  cried  the  young  lady 
self-reproachingly.  "  It  sha'n't  happen  again. " 

"Was  there  any  cause  for  it?"  enquired  Gil- 
bert; "because,  if  so,  we  will  remove  it." 

She  stopped  and  laughed,  and  with  a  quick 
return  to  good  temper,  pointed  to  the  tall  figure 
of  the  far-off  Mrs.  Brentford.  She  assumed  the 
frown,  and  stamped  the  stamp,  of  a  tragic 
actress. 


75 


"  Look,  sir ! "  she  exclaimed.  Gilbert  fol- 
lowed the  direction.  "That,  that  is  the  cause." 
She  changed  quickly  to  her  ordinary  self. 
"And  now  let's  get  on  the  top  of  a  'bus  and 
forget  all  about  her." 


V 
CHAPTER  V 

THERE  were  several  matters  in  which  Gilbert 
felt  that  his  previous  experience  was  of  value. 
When,  for  instance,  he  received  at  his  rooms  a 
long  letter  from  the  effusive  Captain  Dann,  beg- 
ging him  to  come  and  see  him  at  once  on  matters 
connected  with  an  investment,  he  called  down 
at  the  big  block  of  buildings  and  went  up  the 
continuous  lift,  armed  with  a  prudence  that  is 
generally  associated  with  maturity. 

Similarly,  he  thought  as  he  waited  in  the  outer 
office — Captain  Dann  always  kept  every-body 
waiting  for  five  minutes,  in  order  to  convey  an 
impression  that  he  was  engaged  on  matters  of 
the  first  importance — in  that  five  minutes  Gilbert 
stroked  his  young  mustache  and  smiled  confi- 
dently at  his  reflection  in  a  mirror,  and  decided 
that,  in  regard  to  any  love  affair  that  might 
develop,  he  would  exercise  identical  foresight. 

"I  like  little  Reade,"  he  said  thoughtfully; 
"  she's  quite  the  dearest  girl  I  have  met.  Pretty, 
too,  and  clever.  And  Mrs.  Brentford  seems 


77 


amiable,  and  she  lives  at  Queen's  Gate  and  has 
no  mother.  The  affair  will  require  to  be  looked 
at  squarely  and  calmly." 

He  whistled  softly  and  half  closed  his  eyes. 

"  The  way  is,"  he  said  argumentatively,  to  a 
map  of  South  Africa  that  hung  on  the  walls — 
"the  way  is  to  detach  yourself  from  your  own 
personal  emotions  and  to  do  every  thing  accord- 
ing to  the  rules  of  a  business-like  man.  The 
mistakes  that  I  made  before  were  due  entirely 
to  want  of  experi " 

"Captain  Dann  can  see  you  now,  sir." 

The  junior  clerk  gave  the  information  confi- 
dentially, as  something  not  to  be  bruited  about. 

"My  dear  fellow!"  Captain  Dann  met  Gil- 
bert on  the  mat  with  an  air  of  effusive  delight, 
and  held  his  hand  for  a  few  moments.  "  I'm 
awfully  glad  you  called — for  your  sake.  This  is 
a  moment  that  you  will  look  back  upon  some  day 
as  the  one  which  laid  the  foundation  of  your 
fortune.  First  of  all,  though,  let  me  say  this. 
You  newspaper  Johnnies — by  the  bye,  this  is  my 
dear  old  friend  Matcham.  You  must  have  heard 
of  Matcham  ?  " 

That  young  man,  with  small  eyes  and  no  chin 
worth  mentioning,  nodded  his  head  to  Gilbert 


and  said  brusquely,  in  reply  to  Gilbert's  enquiry, 
that  he  was  feeling  pretty  fit.  Rather  thick 
night  of  it  though,  last  night  (said  Mr.  Matcham). 
Out  with  about  ten  chaps  ;  ten  of  the  best. 
Painted  (said  Mr.  Matcham  with  a  mere  flicker 
of  satisfaction) — painted  the  bally  place  scarlet. 

"  My  young  friend  Matcham,"  said  Captain 
Dann  excusingly,  "is  one  of  those  who  combine 
strictly  business  tactics  with  the — the  flaneur, 
the  boulevardier,  the — to  use  a  common  expres- 
sion— the  man  of  the  world.  A  many-sided  man, 
Matcham," — Captain  Dann  looked  at  the  small- 
eyed  youth  critically, — "one  who  will  some  day 
make  a  mark." 

"No  necessity  to  make  a  mark,"  said  Mr. 
Matcham,  "when  one  can  write  one's  name." 

"Good!"  cried  Captain  Dann  explosively. 
"Devilish  good.  Mark — signature,  good!  See 
it,  Mr.  Gilbert?" 

Gilbert  answered  that  he  had  not  failed  to 
do  so. 

"  Fine  thing,  humor,  sir,"  said  Captain  Dann, 
still  chuckling.  "I  often  wonder  where  the 
deuce  we  should  be  without  it.  I  crack  a  joke 
myself  when  I  see  half  a  chance.  Many  a  time, 
bless  my  soul,  in  my  old  days,  I've  sat  at  mess, 


79 


and  I  assure  you  " — Captain  Dann  laughed  bois- 
terously— "I  assure  you,  sir,  that  I've  kept  the 
whole  table  in  a  roar.  The  whole  table,  sir." 

"Only  the  table?"  asked  Mr.  Matcham 
languidly. 

"But  this  isn't  what  I  wanted  to  see  you  about, 
Mr.— Mr. " 

"Gilbert." 

"  Yes,  yes,  of  course.  A  deuced  good  name, 
too.  Deuced  good  name.  There's  more  in  a 
name  than  some  people  think.  Give  a  man  a 
good  name,  and  they'll  never  hang  him.  No,  sir." 

"Now,  why  in  the  world,  Dann,"  said  Match- 
am —  "why  in  the  world  don't  you  cut  your 
cackle  and  get  to  business?  You've  got  as  much 
jaw  as  an  old  woman." 

"Briefly,  my  dear  sir,"  said  Dann,  "the  point 
is  this.  There  are  some  very  cheap  mining 
shares — Merry,  Merry  England — in  the  market 
just  now,  and  my  friend  Matcham  and  myself 
have  secured  a  good  many  of  them.  At  any 
moment  they  may  go  up — at  any  moment !  You 
never  know  with  these  things." 

"/don't,"  said  Gilbert  candidly. 

"But  some  of  us,"  went  on  .Captain  Dann 
mysteriously — "some  of  us  do.  I  can't  give  you 


8o 


all  the  details  just  now — better  not,  I  think, 
Matcham  ? " 

Mr.  Matcham  replied  that  not  a  word  must  be 
breathed  to  a  soul  on  any  account. 

"  But  what  I  can  tell  you  is  that,  if  you  like  to 
invest  an  odd  thousand,  we  can  oblige  you  by 
letting  you  stand  in,  and  if  all's  well  you'll  be 
glad  you  seized  the  opportunity.  Now  then, 
take  a  few  minutes  to  think  over  it.  You're  a 
sensible  young  fellow — much  like  I  was  myself  at 
your  age — and  I  " — Captain  Dann  spoke  impul- 
sively— "well,  I  like  you.  There!" 

Captain  Dann  mopped  his  bald  forehead  with 
his  handkerchief. 

"I  wear  my  heart  upon  my  sleeve,  as  I  once 
rather  neatly  put  it,"  said  Captain  Dann; 
"heart  upon  my  sleeve.  Eh,  Matcham?" 

Mr.  Matcham  said  that  if  you  asked  him,  Cap- 
tain Dann  was  a  fool  to  himself. 

"I  can't  help  it,"  said  Captain  Dann  reck- 
lessly. "My  plain,  John  Blunt  way  has  lost  me 
a  mint  of  money  in  my  time,  but — well,  friend- 
ship can't  be  bought.  That's  the  way  I  put  it. 
Let  me  be  surrounded  by  friends,  and  I  ask  no 
more.  Blood,  is  thicker  than  water.  What  do 
you  say  on  that  point,  Matcham  ?  " 


Si 


Mr.  Matcham  said  cautiously  that  it  depended. 

"Depended  be  hanged!"  said  Captain  Dann 
boisterously.  "  A  friend  I'd  trust  to  the  further- 
most ends  of  the  earth;  an  enemy" — Captain 
Dann  swept  a  sheet  of  letter-paper  off  the  table 
with  an  expressive  action — "an  enemy  I  wouldn't 
trust  with  a  penny  'bus  ticket !  " 

"  Can  you  give  me  an  hour  to  think  this 
over?"  asked  Gilbert.  "I  don't  want  to  do 
any  thing  without  due  consideration." 

"It's  twelve-twenty  now,"  said  Matcham, 
looking  at  his  watch.  "Wire  us  here  by  one- 
twenty,  and  not  a  moment  later." 

"Not  a  moment  later!"  echoed  Captain  Dann. 
"  At  one-thirty  another  man  is  coming,  who  will 
go  down  on  his  knees  for  them  !  On  his  knees, 
sir!  Call  back  or  wire." 

"I  will,"  said  Gilbert,  rising;  "and  in  any 
case,  many  thanks  for  the  trouble  you're  taking." 

"It's  no  trouble,"  said  Captain  Dann.  "I 
don't  make  trouble  of  this  sort  of  thing.  Last 
week  I  should  no  more  have  given  you  the 
chance  of  this  good  thing  than  to — to  the  man  in 
the  moon.  Do  you  know  why  ?  eh  ?" 

"Well,  you  didn't  know  me." 

"  That's  ykj/  it.  That's  precisely  the  answer 
6 


82 


I  wanted.  I'm  a  judge  of  character,  mind  you, 
and  it  isn't  often  I  make  mistakes.  I  remember 
when  I  first  met  my  dear  old  chum  Matcham " 

"  Drop  it !  "   said  that  gentleman  warningly. 

"In  fact,  to  put  it  shortly,  I'm  one  of  those 
who  can  take  one  look  at  a  man  and  say  directly, 
without  thinking,  '  He's  sound  '  or  '  He's  not 
sound.'  See  what  my  meaning  is  ?  " 

"I  think  I  see,"  said  Gilbert.  "Is  this  my 
hat?" 

"  Have  a  drink  of  some  sort  ? "  suggested 
Matcham,  rolling  a  cigarette.  "  Dann,  why 
don't  you  keep  a  bottle  or  two  of  fizz  about  the 
place  ?  Shall  I  send  out  for  some,  or " 

"I  never  drink  before  dinner,"  said  Gilbert 
hastily. 

"Why,  that's  like  Dann."  said  Mr.  Matcham, 
"only  he  has  dinner  at  10  A.  M.,  before  he  comes 
to  the  City." 

Captain  Dann  could  not  have  laughed  more 
loudly  if  he  had  made  this  joke  himself.  He 
walked  to  the  lift  with  Gilbert,  patting  him  on 
the  back  encouragingly. 

"You'll  like  Matcham,"  he  said  with  much 
joviality.  "Sort  of  chap  that  grows  on  one,  you 
know.  More  you  see  him,  more  you  like  him." 


"Oh  !"  said  Gilbert. 

"And  as  keen,  sir,  as  keen — well,  as  keen  as 
I  am.  And  that's  keen  enough  for  all  ordinary 
purposes.  Good-by.  Wire  us  sharp,  mind. 
Between  ourselves  "  (this  confidentially,  for  fear 
the  empty  lift  should  hear),  "  I  don't  want  this 
other  man  to  get  them.  He's  what  I  call  a 
bounder.  Now,"  obstinately,  "what  I  cannot 
and  will  not  stand  is  a  bounder.  Good-by." 

Mr.  Gilbert,  journalist,  with  a  little  compe- 
tence in  the  bank,  felt  relieved  when  he  found 
himself  in  the  open  air  of  Queen  Victoria  Street. 
He  applauded  his  excellent  wariness  at  not 
being  caught  by  the  net  that  had  been  spread  in 
his  sight,  and  at  a  restaurant  in  Cheapside  he  had 
a  long  lemon  squash  with  a  lump  of  ice  bobbing 
a-top,  and  congratulated  himself. 

A  large  panel  photograph  in  a  shop  window 
made  him  stop  for  five  minutes,  because  the  girl's 
eyes  were  rather  like  those  possessed  by  Miss 
Reade.  There  were  other  photographs  in  the 
window;  photographs  of  eminent  beauties  placed 
there  to  be  purchased  by  emotional  City  youths, 
who  would  bear  them  home  triumphantly  on  pay 
day  to  Islington,  to  enliven  and  make  joyous  the 
mantle-piece  of  bed-  and  sitting-room  combined. 


84 


Also  there  were  photographs  of  humorous 
comedians  in  their  favorite  diverting  attitudes, 
with  an  excerpt  from  the  dramatic  literature  with 
which  they  were  associated,  as  "  Ah,  Tottie  !  I 
saw  you  first,"  and  "This  is  the  'ottest  place 
I've  ever  been  in,"  and  "  I  wonder  what's  become 
of  my  wife's  Ma?"  Further,  there  were,  to 
balance  matters  and  to  compensate  for  these 
hilarious  ones,  portraits  of  demure  bishops,  and 
portly  aldermen,  and  others;  all  looking  very 
well-satisfied  with  the  world  and  inclined  to  be 
just  a  little  wrath  with  those  who  questioned  the 
correctness  of  this  attitude. 

But  Gilbert  only  looked  at  the  girl  whose  eyes 
resembled  those  of  Miss  Reade. 

"And  they're  to  be  had  up  this  morning,"  said 
a  man  behind  him;  "and  I  hope  they  both  go 
for  trial." 

"  Bad  case  ? "  asked  a  straw-hatted  youth  of 
the  man. 

"  It  is  a  bad  case  and  it  isn't  a  bad  case,  if  you 
understand  me.  It's  a  job  that  a  lot  of  people 
have  lost  their  money  in,  that's  certain.  Whether 
these  chaps  have  done  any  thing  that  makes  them 
liable  to  the  law  is,  of  course,  another  matter  ?" 

"At  the  Mansion  House  to-day?" 


"At  the  Mansion  House,"  said  the  man. 
"Case  ought  to  be  on  now." 

"How'd  it  be,"  asked  the  straw-hatted  youth, 
"  to  drop  in  and  see  the  fun  ? " 

"Not  half  a  bad  idea,"  replied  the  other.  "  I 
was  always  rather  chummy  with  Wentmore. " 

"  Won't  look  like  bad  form  ?  " 

"  Bad  form  be  hanged! "  said  the  man.  "  For 
my  part,  I  was  never  a  stickler  for  etiquette." 

Gilbert  looked  at  the  clock  and  decided  to  also 
spare  an  hour  to  hear  some  of  this  case  of  which 
the  two  were  speaking.  It  would  be  a  good 
object  lesson,  and  one  probably  that  would  assist 
him  in  his  scheme  of  caution. 

He  bought  a  financial  paper  in  the  street  and 
noticed  that  the  Merry,  Merry  England  shares 
were  down  low. 

"  'Oh,  wise  young  judge!'"  he  quoted.  And 
composed  and  despatched  a  telegram  to  Captain 
Dann  of  Mansion  House  Buildings,  declining  the 
offer. 

He  strolled  on  and,  ascending  the  steps  where 
a  small,  excited  crowd  had  assembled,  went 
through  a  passage  to  the  Justice  Room.  An 
Alderman  in  his  gown  was  on  the  high-backed 
chair,  behind  him  the  sword  of  justice.  The  tall 


86 


jailer  in  uniform  opened  the  lid  behind  the  dock, 
and  much  as  though  he  were  offering  a  fresh 
course  at  a  rather  long  dinner  said,  "Number 
eight  and  nine,  Sir  Donald.  Richard  Wentmore 
and  Joseph  Marks. "- 

The  crowd  at  the  side  of  the  small,  square 
room  shuffled  its  feet  and  stepped  on  each 
others'  toes  the  better  to  see.  The  two  men, 
well  dressed,  stood  in  the  dock,  the  tall  foot- 
man-like jailer  whistled  down  the  speaking-tube 
to  the  cells  below,  and  a  youthful  counsel  in  a 
frock-coat,  with  gardenia,  rose  and  bowed  to  the 
judge. 

"/appear  for  Mr.  Wentmore,  Sir  Donald." 

"And,"  said  the  Alderman  humorously,  with 
a  strong  Scotch  accent — "and  a  fine  appear- 
ance ye  make,  Mr.  Fenton.  He's  done  well  to 
engage  ye." 

The  young  counsel  bowed  again;  the  small 
crowd  at  the  side  smiled  and  the  Alderman 
laughed  inwardly,  in  a  manner  so  repressed  that 
it  made  him  quite  scarlet  in  the  face. 

"Is  your  name  Wentmore  ?"  he  asked  one  of 
the  well-dressed  men  in  the  dock. 

"It  is,  your  worship." 

"I   think,"  said  the  Alderman,    "if  ye  went 


87 


more  to  the  kirk  and  not  sae  much  to  the  City, 
ye'd  get  into  less  trooble. " 

Court  much  diverted.  The  prisoners,  es- 
pecially, quite  delighted  at  the  Alderman's 
humor. 

"And  your  name,"  he  addressed  the  other 
man,  "your  name  is  Marks." 

"Joseph  Marks,  your  worship." 

The  Alderman  thought  for  a  moment  before 
offering  his  comment. 

"  It's  only  bad  marks  that  coom  to  this  coort," 
he  said  genially.  "If  ye  were  good  marks,  ye'd 
not  have  coom  within  a  hoondred  miles  o'  the 
place." 

Court  again  amused. 

"/appear  for  the  Treasury,  Sir  Donald,"  said 
a  bearded  counsel  briskly.  "And  I  have  to 
charge  the  two  gentlemen  in  the  dock  with 
fraudulently  obtaining  money  in  the  matter  of  a 
certain  company,  under  false  pretences.  It  is 
contended  that  there  were  incorrect  statements 
in  the  prospectus  issued  by  the  prisoners " 

"False  statement  in  a  coompany  proo- 
spectus?"  said  the  Alderman,  with  comic  affecta- 
tion of  amazement.  "Where  will  this  awfu' 
habit  of  leeing  stop  ? " 


88 


"And  I  shall  endeavor  to  give  you  evidence 
this  morning  that  will  enable  you  to  commit  the 
prisoners." 

"I'll  coommit  the  preesoners,"  said  the  watch- 
ful humorist  in  the  high-backed  chair— "I'll 
coommit  the  preesoners,  if  I  find  they've  coom- 
mitted  theirsel's  a'ready." 

Gilbert  became  interested  in  the  case.  It 
seemed  an  apposite  illustration  of  the  scene  in 
which  he  had  recently  taken  part,  and  the  piling 
up  of  evidence  against  the  two  gave  him  intense 
gratification.  The  line  of  the  younger  counsel 
was  that  his  client,  Wentmore,  was  a  man  igno- 
rant of  these  matters,  who  had  allowed  himself 
to  be  directed  by  the  prisoner  Marks. 

"That's  .no  excuse,"  whispered  Gilbert  to  the 
man  next  him. 

"  Of  course  not." 

"  If  a  man  is  fool  enough  to  assist  a  rogue  to 
take  in  other  fools,  he  must  be  punished  for  it." 

"Quite  so." 

"I  always  contend,  you  know " 

"  Silence  there,  please,"  said  the  Usher. 

The  excellent  Alderman  presently  stopped  the 
case.  He  had  offered  so  many  witticisms  in  the 
course  of  the  hearing  that  the  two  men  in  the 


dock  looked  cheerfully  and  optimistically  toward 
him. 

"  It's  a  verra  interesting  case,"  he  said,  "  but 
I  think  I'll  nae  trouble  ye  to  gie  us  any  more 
of  it." 

The  clerk  stood  up  and  whispered. 

"  Pairfectly  so,"  said  the  Alderman.  He 
turned  genially  to  the  prisoners.  "I  don't 
think  we  need  boother  much  longer  with  this 
affair.  I  dare  say  ye're  both  extremely  sorry 
that  any  body  should  ha'  lost  mooney  o'er  this 
beesness. " 

"  Very  sorry,  your  worship,"  they  said  in  duet; 
"  very  sorry  indeed.  If  we  can  do  any  thing " 

"Ye'll  hae  a  guid  opportunity  of  doing  some- 
thing later  on,  I'm  thinking.  I  commit  ye  both 
for  trial  at  the  Old  Bailey,  and,"  he  turned  to  the 
clerk,  "I  hope  that  they'll  be  severely  punished 
for  their  behavior.  Next  case,  please." 

Gilbert,  at  the  Budget  office  that  evening, 
talked  the  affair  over  with  Bradley  Webbe  and 
took  much  credit  to  himself  for  his  acumen  in 
avoiding  the  snares  of  Captain  Dann  and  Mr. 
Matcham.  Bradley  Webbe  remarked  in  answer 
that  Gilbert's  column  wanted  brightening  up, 
and  that  even  the  Proprietor,  with  all  his  admi- 


ration  for  Gilbert's  work,  had  confessed  that  it 
might  be  improved. 

"An  ordinary  young  man,"  went  on  Gilbert, 
"would  have  sat  down  and  written  at  once  a 
check  for  a  thousand  pounds,  had  the  stuff  trans- 
ferred to  him,  and  would  have  been  the  poorer 
by  that  thousand  pounds  and  the  richer  for  a  few 
pounds  of  waste  paper." 

"I  rather  think,"  said  Bradley  Webbe,  "that 
the  Proprietor  wants  you  to  dine  with  him  in 
Cavendish  Square  to  have  a  talk  with  you." 

"And  what  will  happen  when  I  dine  with  him, 
Webbe  ? " 

"Why,  you  will  begin  at  eight-thirty,"  ex- 
plained Webbe,  "soup  and  sherry.  At  nine  you 
will  find  yourself  at  saddle  of  mutton  and  cham- 
pagne. At  ten  liqueurs  and  cigars.  At  eleven, 
to  the  minute,  out  you  go." 

"Sounds  all  right." 

"It  is  all  right,"  said  Webbe  ;  "and  if  you 
can  only  play  the  amiable  and  keep  on  the  right 
side  of  the  old  fellow,  why  you  can't  go  far 
wrong." 

"  I  don't  mean  to  go  wrong  at  all,"  said  Gil- 
bert confidently;  "and  you  maybe  quite  sure 
that  I  shall  make  myself  agreeable." 


"It's  no  effort  for  you  to  do  so,"  remarked 
Webbe,  " that's  where  you're  lucky  again." 

"Again!"  echoed  Gilbert.  "Have  I  been 
lucky  in  any  other  way  ? " 

"All  your  life,"  said  Webbe.  "I  think  you 
are  one  of  those  men  whose  career  is  all  mapped 
out  and  arranged,  and  all  you  have  to  do  is  to 
keep  the  rudder  straight  and  go  on.  Where's 
that  short  story  that  came  in  this  morning  from 
young  Lady  Thing-me-bob  ?  " 

"  I  stuck  it  there  to  keep  the  window  open." 

"We  mustn't  lose  sight  of  it,"  remarked 
Webbe.  "It  will  have  to  go  back  by  to-night's 
post.  The  young  aristocracy,  when  they  write, 
are  like  nothing  else  under  the  sun.  They  can't 
bear  their  precious  scrip  to  be  out  of  their  sight 
for  more  than  a  few  minutes  at  a  time." 

They  wrote  for  a  while  without  further  con- 
versation. Presently  Bradley  Webbe  rang  and 
Master  Barling  appeared.  Master  Barling  rolled 
up  the  Halfpenny  Wonder  with  a  sigh,  and  placed 
it  in  the  pocket  of  his  corduroy  trousers. 

"Barling!  " 

"Sir,  to  you." 

"  Latest  Pall  Mall." 

"Right,  sir." 


92 


Bradley  Webbe,  when  the  journal  arrived, 
leaned  one  leg  over  the  arm  of  his  office  chair  and 
went  through  the  news  rapidly. 

"You  see,"  said  Gilbert,  looking  up  from  his 
work,  "  the  best  of  being  cool-headed  is  that  you 
are  prepared  for  the  swindlers  in  this  life." 

"  What  are  you  talking  about  now  ?  " 

"Why,  in  regard  to  this  Merry,  Merry  Eng- 
land mine.  One  would  have  thought,  to  hear 
Captain  Dann  talk,  that  really  it  was  one  of  the 
most  profitable  investments  that  any  body  could 
put  their  money  into.  'A  fortune  in  it,  my 
boy,'  he  said.  But  I  was  just  a  little  too  know- 
ing for  them,  I  fancy.  I  wasn't  born  yester- 
day, Webbe." 

"  Did  you  tell  them  so  ?  These  little  facts 
are  very  impressive  sometimes." 

"I  didn't  tell  them,  but  I  expect  they  saw 
they  had  a  wary  customer  to  deal  with.  Why, 
the  very  name  of  the  mine  is  against  it.  Merry, 
Merry  England  indeed  !  Merry,  Merry  swindle 
I  should  call  it." 

Webbe  turned  over  to  the  City  page. 

"  Hullo  !  "  he  exclaimed. 

"  I  wonder  where  they  find  their  victims,  these 
chaps,"  went  on  Gilbert.  "You'd  think  that  at 


93 

this  end  of  the  century,  now What's  the 

matter  with  you,  Webbe  ?  " 

"  Nothing  the  matter  with  me,"  said  Bradley 
Webbe;  "nothing  the  matter  with  the  Merry, 
Merry  England  shares.  On  the  contrary,  listen 
to  this." 

Gilbert,  amused,  turned  to  listen. 

"  'A  most  gratifying  cablegram  reached  Throg- 
morton  Street  this  afternoon  from  the  Merry, 
Merry  England  Mines.  We  are  not  able  to  give 
a  literal  copy,  but  the  effect  is  that  a  new  vein 
of  gold  has  been  unexpectedly  struck,  and  this 
scheme,  which  has  for  some  months  past  been 
down  at  the  bottom  of  the  list,  will  once  again 
take  up  position.  A  tremendous  bound  upward 
in  prices  naturally  took  place,  and  lucky  outside 
buyers  of  shares  at  the  figure  of  the  last  few 
months  will  make  a  big  haul.  As  it  is,  nearly 
every-body  who  "knew  any  thing"  in  financial 
circles  had  unloaded  the  shares  long  since.' ' 

Gilbert  rose  from  his  chair  and  went  to  the 
window.  He  opened  it  and  stood  there  for  a  few 
moments.  The  voices  of  printers'  boys  came  up 
from  below  and  mingled  with  the  tinkling  of  a 


94 

piano-organ  out  in  the  street.  Two  or  three 
murky-faced  infants  were  pirouetting  to  the 
gavotte,  stopping  now  and  again  to  pull  up  their 
socks  and  to  ask  the  beaming  Italian  gentleman 
why  he  didn't  turn  the  handle  faster. 

"Come  on,"  said  Bradley  Webbe  ;  "don't 
dwell  on  lost  opportunities,  there's  nothing  con- 
crete about  them.  Do  you  happen  to  know 
whom  Dom  Pedro  married?" 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  immediate  acceptance  of  a  five-thousand- 
word  story  by  one  of  the  weeklies — he  was  free 
to  work  for  papers  other  than  the  Budget — sent 
Gilbert  into  a  state  of  delight  that  helped  to  com- 
pensate for  the  disappointment  caused  by  the 
Merry,  Merry  England  affair.  He  had  not  ex- 
perienced this  acute  satisfaction  for  so  many 
years  that  he  had  quite  forgotten  its  joyousness. 
Now  he  remembered  that,  in  the  old  days,  the 
feeling  of  desolation  which  came  when  the  ser- 
vant handed  in  large,  white  envelopes  was  always 
atoned  for  by  the  sensation  of  supreme  content 
that  occasional  letters  of  acceptance  brought. 

At  these  times  the  buoyant-minded  recipient 
feels  so  assured  that  his  pathway  to  success  is 
broad  and  smoothly  paved  that  he  generally  goes 
and  buys  a  new  necktie.  Gilbert's  feeling  was 
that  he  must  tell  somebody  of  the  incident  at 
once  ;  somebody  who  would  be  pleased  to  hear 
it  and  who  would  frankly  say  so.  And  he  took 
'bus  straightway  to  Portland  Road  Station  and 
called  at  Alpha  Terrace. 


96 


"This  is  good  of  you,"  said  Kittie  Reade. 
She  rose  from  the  table  at  which  she  was  working 
and  came  to  take  his  hat  and  stick.  "I  was 
afraid  you  were  annoyed  at  poor  mamma's  re- 
mark the  other  night  and  that  we  shouldn't  see 
you  again." 

Gilbert  laughed  good-temperedly. 

"  Is  Mrs.  Reade  in  ?  " 

"  Mamma  is  playing  at  nap,"  said  Kittie 
brightly.  "She  always  has  just  forty  winks  at 
midday.  Do  you  mind  if  I  go  on  with  my  work  ? 
You  can  talk,  you  know.  It  won't  affect  me." 

"  Can  nothing  I  say  affect  you  ?  " 

"I  didn't  mean  that,"  she  said  composedly. 

She  resumed  her  seat  at  the  small  table  and 
went  on  with  her  sketch  of  "A  New  Morning 
Frock."  Gilbert  told  her  of  the  acceptance  of 
the  short  story,  and  she  flushed  prettily  with 
delight.  ' 

"And  I  think  it  would  show  Providence  that 
I  am  grateful,"  said  Gilbert,  "if  I  were  to  do 
something  in  a  special  way  to  celebrate  the 
event.  Where  could  we  go  now  in  order  to 
spend  a  happy  day  ?  " 

Kittie  Reade  tapped  her  lips  with  her  pencil 
and  rocked  back  in  the  chair  and  considered. 


97 

"Rosherville  ! "  she  cried   suddenly. 

"Very  well,"  agreed  Gilbert;  "but  isn't  it 
rather " 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Kittle;  "I've  never  been 
there.  We'll  take  mamma  and " 

"  Do  you  think  she  will  enjoy  it?" 

"  Oh,  yes  !  "  said  Kittie  hastily,  "  she  will  like 
it  very  much.  And  we'll  go  by  the  three  o'clock 
boat  from  London  Bridge,  and  have  tea  in  the 
gardens  and  roam  about  and  see  every  thing  that's 
funny  and  come  back,  too,  by  boat."  She  hesi- 
tated a  moment.  "It  won't  be  expensive,"  she 
added. 

"That's  a  drawback,"  said  Gilbert,  "but  for 
once  we  must  put  up  with  it.  Give  my  regards 
to  Mrs.  Reade.  At  three  o'clock  sharp,  mind,  at 
London  Bridge." 

"I  shall  just  be  able  to  finish  my  sketch  in 
time." 

"  Do  you  never  neglect  your  work  ?  " 

"I  am  the  most  reliable  young  person  in  the 
world,"  said  Kittie  Reade  quaintly.  "  Good-by 
until  three." 

At  three  o'clock,  therefore,  the  Swan  pier  near 
London  Bridge:  London  Bridge  itself  fringed 
with  heads  of  leisurely  loafers  who  lean  elbows 
7 


on  the  stone  coping  and  conjure  up  a  kind  of 
abstract  fatigue  by  watching  the  work  of  the  men 
on  the  boats  below;  London  Bridge  also  busy 
with  'bus  and  wagon  traffic,  anxious  to  show 
Tower  Bridge  that  it  still  finds  plenty  to  do,  in 
spite  of  unmannerly  competitors  with  bascules 
and  other  fal-de-lals. 

The  Swiftsure  bumped  gently  at  the  side  of  the 
pier,  and  across  the  gangway  to  the  Swiftsure 
walked  intending  voyagers,  the  four  members  of 
the  band  watching  each  narrowly,  as  who  should 
consider  "Are  you  good  for  a  tanner,  or  are  you 
not  good  for  a  tanner  ?  "  A  fussy  little  steamer 
came  across  from  the  Southwark  side  of  the  river 
to  take  passengers  to  Chelsea,  and  became  very 
excited  and  frothed  furiously  at  the  paddle- 
wheels  on  finding  the  Swiftsure  slightly  in  the 
way. 

"Plenty  of  time,"  cried  Gilbert.  "How  do, 
Mrs.  Reade?  I've  got  the  tickets.  This  way." 

Kittie  Reade,  in  absolutely  the  neatest  and 
most  charming  of  tailor-made  gray  serge  gowns 
that  mortal  tailor  ever  cut,  and  a  big-brimmed 
hat  fixed  with  a  silver  stiletto,  gave  her  arm  to 
the  elder  lady. 

"Don't  for  goodness'  sake  ask  me  how  I  do," 


99 


Mrs.  Reade  panted.  "  Do  please  let  me  sit  down 
first  and  get  my  breath.  Young  people  nowa- 
days seem  to  have  no  consideration,  really.  To 
please  them  you  must  be  always  flying  here  or 
flying  there,  trapsing  up  steps  and  down  steps 
and " 

"  You  sit  here,  mamma,"  said  Kittie  gently, 
"and  you'll  be  nicely  sheltered  from  the  wind." 

"Nicely  sheltered,  indeed!"  said  the  lady 
wrathfully.  "  There's  a  lot  of  '  nicely  sheltered  ' 
about  this  business." 

"The  mood  only  lasts  a  few  minutes," 
whispered  Kittie  apologetically  to  Gilbert. 

"I  know." 

Gilbert  turned  to  Mrs.  Reade. 

"Do  you  mind  if  I  say  a  very  rude  thing, 
Mrs.  Reade  ?  I  want  to  tell  you  that  this  new 
bonnet  of  yours  simply  makes  you  look  ten  years 
younger." 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Gilbert  !  "  said  the  old  lady  delight- 
edly, "how  can  you  say  such  things?  But 
really,  do  you  think  it  suits  me?" 

"It  has  such  a  chic  appearance!"  urged 
Gilbert. 

"/thought  it  seemed  a  little  too  young,"  she 
said  doubtfully. 


100 

"My  dear  Mrs.  Reade  !  In  these  things  every 
thing  depends  on  the  wearer." 

"Well,"  acknowledged  Mrs.  Reade  candidly, 
"there  certainly  is  something  in  that.  I  once 
had  a  sister  who,  just  because  she  married  a 
colonial  man,  seemed  to  think  she  was  every-body, 
and  that  sister  of  mine,  if  you'll  believe  me, 
never  would  take  my  advice  in  matters  of  dress." 

"  Good  gracious  !  "  exclaimed  the  surprised 
Gilbert. 

"  The  trouble  I  used  to  take  over  her,  too  !  / 
never  saw  her  equal,  really.  And  this  just  shows 
that  it's  no  use  trying  too  much.  There  was  s/ie, 
an  ordinary  girl, — she  had  none  of  the  good  looks, 
bless  you,  of  the  rest  of  us, — and  this  sheep- 
shearer,  or  whatever  he  was,  came  over  for  a 
holiday  from  Queensland,  and  he  had  plenty  of 
money,  and  I'm  sure  the  poor  silly  man  could 
have  had  the  pick  of  us;  instead  of  which " 

"Chose  her!" 

"Chose  her,"  confirmed  Mrs.  Reade. 

"Well,  well!"  said  Gilbert  amazedly,  "that's 
the  most  extraordinary  anecdote  I  ever  heard." 

"Oh,  bless  you!"  said  Mrs.  Reade  lightly, 
"that's  nothing.  Why,  there  was  a  cousin  of 
mine  once — her  name  was  Maude,  but  she  was  a 


pleasant  enough  young  girl  for  all  that — and 
she " 

The  clock  on  the  insurance  office  showed  at 
three,  and  faint  jingling  of  the  hour  came  from 
City  churches.  The  Swiftsure  was  comfort- 
ably full,  and  under  the  canvas-covered  half  of 
the  deck  the  breeze  danced  refreshingly.  A  bell 
rang,  and  the  Swiftsure  backed  away  from  the 
pier  and  then  returned  and  bumped  it  once  more 
for  fun.  The  captain  on  the  bridge  called  down 
the  brass  speaking-tube,  the  Swiftsure  went  out 
into  mid- stream,  selected  an  archway,  and,  its 
funnel  lowered,  went  through  it  ;  the  band 
started  a  selection  of  comic  songs  hewn  into 
quadrille  form  ;  the  men  unloading  mammoth 
blocks  of  ice  at  the  wharves  cheered  ;  a  facetious 
youth  on  board  affected  to  shed  blinding  tears  at 
the  agony  of  leaving  his  native  land  and  waved 
good-by  to  a  fictitious  parent. 

"But  don't  you  let  me  go  and  take  up  all  of 
your  time,  Mr.  Gilbert.  It's  very  good  of  you 
to  ask  us  to  come,  I'm  sure,  and  it  would  be  too 
bad  for  me  to  talk  and  talk  and  talk  all  the  while. 
Is  there  an  inquest,  or  any  thing,  in  that  paper 
you've  got  ? " 

Gilbert  found  a  good  long  absorbing  inquest 


for  Mrs.  Reade,  and  that  lady  composed  herself 
for  an  enjoyable  read.  Kittie  and  Gilbert  walked 
along  the  deck  and  watched  the  wharves,  the 
old-fashioned  inns  squeezed  tightly  between 
them,  and  the  huge  steamers,  mid-river,  unload- 
ing their  cargo. 

"We  have  here,"  remarked  Kittie,  with  an 
imitation  of  the  showman  manner — "we  have 
here  Wapping  Old  Stairs,  referred  to  in  the  olden 
days,  you  will  remember,  ladies  and  gentlemen, 
in  immortal  poetry  that  can  never  die.  Also  we 
have  here  the  Thames  Police  Station,  so  called 
on  account  of  it  being  the — er — Station  of  the 
Thames  Police." 

"  Cheers  !  "  remarked  Gilbert. 

"In  the  old  smuggling  days  Wapping  was  a 
prosperous  place,  and  a  good  trade  in  wines, 
spirit,  and  cigars  was  carried  on  to  the  satis- 
faction of  all  but  King  George's  revenue  men. 
Stowe  tells  us " 

A  curious,  clean-shaven  man  in  convex  glasses 
was  watching  them  with  much  interest.  She 
stopped  her  imitation  at  once. 

"Pardon  me,  Miss,"  said  Gilbert,  as  they 
walked  along,  "but  how  did  you  come  to  learn 
all  you  know?" 


103 


"The  gentleman  in  the  gallery  asks  me  how 
I  came  to  learn  all  I  know.  My  reply  to  the 
gentleman  is  that  I  came  to  know  what  I  know 
by  keeping  on  pegging  away,  reading  all  that  I 
could,  and  not — well,"  she  resumed  her  normal 
manner,  "  not  being  lazy  !  " 

"And  are  you  happy  ?" 

"Oh,  yes!    Certainly.     Nearly  always  happy." 

"  But  not  quite  always  ?" 

"Why,  nobody  is  always  happy,  Mr.  Gilbert. 
It  would  become  quite  intolerable  to  be  always 
smiling.  Besides,  if  we  were  never  miserable, 
we  should  not  know,  when  happiness  came,  how 
pleasant  it  was." 

"I  wonder  now,"  said  Gilbert,  looking  thought- 
fully at  the  folk  on  deck — "  I  wonder  now  whether 
there  is  any  body  on  board  this  steamer  who  is 
seriously  below  the  average  in  contentment.  I 
suppose,  if  you  weighed  each  case  squarely,  you 
would  find  that  Providence  has  been  pretty  fair 
to  every  body." 

The  wind,  coming  round  the  bend  of  the  river 
down  to  Greenwich,  lifted  a  youth's  straw  hat 
and  sent  it  out  to  sea.  A  long,  deep  roar  of 
laughter  came  from  a  knot  of  men  and  girls 
standing  near.  The  tears  rolled  down  their 


104 

cheeks  as  they  watched  the  cross,  indignant 
youth  ;  the  ladies  had  to  lean  against  the  sides 
and  fan  themselves  exhaustedly  with  their 
pocket-handkerchiefs. 

"Now  that,  for  instance,"  said  Miss  Reade — 
"that  just  shows  how  difficult  it  is  to  gauge  the 
emotions  of  any  one  but  one's  self.  That  inci- 
dent doesn't  amuse  me  at  all." 

"Yet  it  has  added  to  the  gayety  of  nations," 
remarked  Gilbert. 

She  looked  out  at  the  shipping  in  the  docks; 
the  masts  as  thick  as  hop-poles  in  Kent  at  sum- 
mer time. 

"Let's  give  it  up,"  she  said  cheerfully. 
"  What  we  must  each  of  us  do  is  to  live  our  own 
life." 

"That's  it,"  agreed  Gilbert  excitedly;  "fight 
for  yourself  and  make  your  way  in  the  world " 

"Yes." 

"And  if  somebody  should  impede  the  way, 
why,  somebody  must  go  out  of  it,  neck  and  crop! 
That's  the  plan  that  I " 

A  toddling  child  in  a  stupendous,  white,  Beef- 
eater hat  came  staggering  with  infantile  reckless- 
ness across  the  gangway,  and  Gilbert,  in  his 
enthusiasm,  would  have  stepped  against  it,  if 


105 

Kittie  had  not  lifted  the  small  person  aside.  She 
gave  the  fat  cheeks  a  kiss  with  a  nice,  feminine 
action  and  guided  the  tiny  promenader  to  her 
young  mother. 

"  But  you  must  not  forget  to  have  con- 
sideration for  others,"  she  said  sedately  to 
Gilbert. 

At  Rosherville  the  Swiftsure  released  its  passen- 
gers, and  they  went  up  to  the  gates  and  wandered 
about  the  grounds.  The  grounds  were  dusty 
grounds,  to  some  extent;  and  a  school  party, 
which  marched  about  with  banners,  raised  a  per- 
fect simoom  wherever  it  went.  Mrs.  Reade  was 
much  moved  at  the  cordiality  of  the  welcome 
which  she  spelled  out  on  the  ornamental  flower- 
beds, and  cried  a  little,  as  though  the  warmth 
of  the  gardener's  gentle  art  had  touched  her 
acutely.  A  tired,  unwashed  old  bear  in  a  pit 
reminded  her  of  a  diverting  incident  in  the  Zoo- 
logical Gardens  in  her  young  days  and  effected 
another  change  of  temperament. 

"Ah!"  said  Mrs.  Reade,  "time  goes  on, 
I  say,  Mr.  Gilbert;  time  goes  on,  doesn't  it?" 

"There  seems  to  be  no  means  of  stopping  it," 
agreed  Gilbert. 

"Sit   down    here,    mamma    dear,"   suggested 


io6 


Kittie;  "  this  is  rather  a  pleasant  seat.  You  will 
get  tired  if  you  walk  too  much." 

"  I  may  be  past  my  first  bloom  of  youth,"  said 
the  old  lady  with  sudden  hauteur;  "  I  don't  deny 
it;  it  would  be  useless  to  do  so.  I'm  no  longer 
a  giddy-pated  miss  of  eighteen;  I  acknowledge 
that  frankly.  But  if  a  daughter  of  mine  is  to 
dictate  to  me  exactly  when  and  where " 

"Come  along,  then,  mamma."  Kittie  always 
preserved  her  good  temper  with  her  mother. 
"  I'll  run  you  to  the  tea-room,  and  Mr.  Gilbert 
shall  be  referee." 

"  There  she  goes,"  complained  Mrs.  Reade  to 
Gilbert;  '•'•there  she  goes  to  the  opposite  ex- 
treme now.  I  cannot  understand  people  who 
change  about  so.  Who's  this  supposed  to  be,  I 
wonder  ? " 

They  looked  at  all  the  whitewashed  busts  on 
their  way  to  the  tea-room.  Also  they  found  at 
the  end  of  the  gardens  a  round,  boarded  space 
with  members  of  the  band  perched  high  up  in 
the  centre  as  though  they  were  birds,  and 
dozens  of  couples  dancing  strenuously  to  the 
blatant  waltz. 

"Have  I  ever  danced  with  you?"  asked 
Gilbert. 


107 

"  Of  course  you  haven't.     You  know  that." 

"  I  didn't  know,"  said  Gilbert  candidly.  "  Are 
you  engaged  for  this  waltz  ? " 

"After  tea,  perhaps,"  she  whispered;  "when 
mamma  is  asleep." 

Nothing  could  exceed  the  frivolity  and  light- 
heartedness  of  the  excellent  Mrs.  Reade  at  the 
tea-table.  The  jokes  that  versatile  lady  told; 
the  humorous  comments  that  she  made  on  the 
appearance  of  a  hard-faced,  flat  young  waitress 
who  attended  on  them  !  Mrs.  Reade,  searching 
through  the  caves  of  memory,  brought  to  light 
astounding  anecdotes  of  much  length  and  some 
obscureness,  not  entirely  unconnected  with  one 
Mr.X. ;  a  gentleman  to  whom  she  begged  per- 
mission to  refer  thus  guardedly.  It  delighted 
Gilbert  to  watch  the  admirable  tact  of  Kittie 
under  these  trying  circumstances. 

"And  the  Opera  House  at  the  time  I'm  speak- 
ing of,"  went  on  Mrs.  Reade,  pouring  out  her 
fourth  cup  of  tea,  "was  at  this  end  of  the  Hay- 
market,  if  you  understand  me,  Mr.  Gilbert  ?  " 

"Perfectly,  Mrs.  Reade." 

"And  Mr.  X.  made  a  proposition  to  my 
father,  who  was,  although  I  say  it,  one  of  the 
most  punctilious  men  that  you  ever  dreamed  of. 


io8 


Etiquette  ?  My  dear  sir  !  You've  heard  of  the 
Comte  d'Orsay,  perhaps?" 

Gilbert  nodded  assent. 

"Well,"  said  the  old  lady  impressively,  "the 
Comte  d'Orsay  was,  if  you'll  believe  me,  a  mere 
bull  in  a  china-shop  compared  with  my  poor 
father.  A  mere  bull  in  a  china-shop,  I  do  assure 
you. " 

Gilbert  said  he  could  quite  believe  it. 

"It  was  the  talk  of  all  Hornsey,"  declared 
Mrs.  Reade  with  triumph.  "To  see  him  bow 
to  Sir  Henry,  who  lived  up  in  the  large  house 
near  the  church — it  used  to  astonish  Sir  Henry 
himself.  Well,  as  I  was  saying — bless  my  soul, 
what  was  I  saying  ?  I  get  so  interrupted  when 
I  do  happen  to  open  my  mouth  for  a  single 
moment  that  it's  no  wonder " 

"You  were  talking  of  Mr.  X.  and  the  Opera 
House,  mamma." 

"Of  course  I  was  !  of  course  I  was  !  Very 
well,  then.  This  Mr.  X.,  he  called  on  poor 
papa  and  said  would  he  allow  Miss  Mercy — that 
was  me — to  go  to  hear  '  Puritani '  with  him.  And 
so  papa  hummed  and  ha'd  a  bit,  as  any  gentle- 
man would,  but  at  last  he  gave  in." 

"And  you  went  to  hear  '  Puritani '  ?  " 


109 

"  Do  wait  a  bit,  please,  Mr.  Gilbert.  If  I 
don't  tell  the  story  my  own  way  I  shall  never 
get  through  with  it.  Well,  when  the  evening 
came,  poor  papa  had  been  having  a  glass  or  two 
of  port,  as,  of  course,  every  gentleman  who  was 
a  gentleman  used  to  in  those  days,  and  when 
Mr.  Brown  called " 

The  old  lady  stopped  with  sudden  conster- 
nation. 

11  There  !  "  she  exclaimed;  "that's  your  fault, 
Kittle." 

"  What,  mamma  ?" 

"Why,  making  me  blurt  out  the  name  of  the 
gentleman  that  poor  papa  had  a  row  with  over 
me.  Really,  you  do  aggravate  one  !  " 

When  Mrs.  Reade  consented  after  tea  to 
doze,  Gilbert  and  Kittie  stole  their  dance  on 
the  boarded  platform  outside.  The  band  aloft 
played  a  waltz,  and  the  enchanted  youth  took  the 
delighted  young  lady  and  footed  it  with  the  best 
of  them.  The  rest  of  the  dancers  were  partly 
Kentish  damsels  and  their  swains;  partly  their 
fellow-voyagers  by  the  boat.  A  few  of  these 
stopped  and  stared  open-mouthed  at  the  well- 
dressed  young  couple  waltzing  in  such  inappro- 
priate surroundings  with  so  much  enjoyment. 


And  Gilbert  felt  that  now,  indeed,  he  was 
experiencing  the  delights  of  youth. 

"An  odd  sight,  sir  ?  " 

Kittie  had  gone  in  to  prepare  her  mother  for 
the  return  journey.  The  convex-spectacled  man 
leaned  against  a  square  post  and  stroked  his 
clean-shaven  chin.  He  spoke  with  a  queer, 
nervous  air. 

"Yes,"  said  Gilbert,  fanning  himself  with  his 
hat.  "  A  little  like  the  Continent,  isn't  it  ? 
The  chalk  walls  over  there  make  a  good  back- 
ground for  the  trees." 

"It  wouldn't  make  a  bad  article  for  one  of 
the  evening  papers." 

"I'll  do  it !"  cried  Gilbert. 

"You  are  a  journalist?  I  used  to  do  a  little 
myself  when  I  was  young,  but  I  came  into  some 
money  and " 

"That  was  lucky." 

"You're  wrong,  sir,"  declared  the  spectacled 
man.  "Quite  wrong.  It  was  the  very  worst 
thing  that  could  have  happened.  It  is  only  by 
exercise  of  the  greatest  ingenuity  that  I  can  pre- 
vent myself  from  being  a  miserable  man." 

"  But  you  do  manage  to  evade  it  ?" 

The  band  started  in  its  lofty  perch  a  polka. 


There  were  some  at  the  gardens  who  were  coy 
in  regard  to  a  waltz,  and  shirked  the  lancers 
altogether,  but  it  seemed  that  they  could  all 
dance  a  polka.  So  crowded  was  the  boarded  floor 
that  couples  bumped  up  against  each  other,  and 
went  on  good-humoredly,  only  to  bump  again. 
The  shrill  giggling  from  the  ladies  was  continuous. 

"  I  am  not  quite  sure,"  said  the  spectacled  man. 

The  Swiftsure  was  obediently  waiting  at  the 
little  pier  when  they  came  out  of  the  gardens. 
The  convex-spectacled  man,  with  a  purse  in  his 
hand,  touched  Kittie  politely  on  the  shoulder 
and  asked  if  her  name  was  Katherine  Reade. 

"It  is,"  said  Gilbert  with  an  air  of  proprietor- 
ship. 

"I  found  this  small  purse  at  the  gate,  with 
this  card  in  it,"  said  the  convex-spectacled  man, 
"and  I  thought  I  heard  you  call  the  elder  lady 
Mrs.  Reade.  And  putting  two  and  two  to- 
gether  " 

"That  is  so  good  of  you,"  said  Kittie  thank- 
fully. "I  should  have  been  sorry  to  have  lost 
it  entirely." 

"I  am  glad  to  have  been  of  some  service," 
said  the  spectacled  man.  "I  am  not  of  very 
much  use  in  the  world." 


112 


"  I  think  that's  almost  a  wicked  thing  to  say," 
interposed  Mrs.  Reade  graciously.  "We  all 
have  our  work  to  perform,  even  the  meanest." 

"  Mamma,  dear!  " 

The  man  lifted  his  hat  to  the  ladies,  and  Gil- 
bert shook  hands  with  him  and  exchanged  cards. 
The  name  on  his  card  was  Ford.  They  saw  no 
more  of  him  on  the  journey  back. 

A  delightful  voyage  home.  Noisy  at  first, 
with  choruses  at  one  end  of  the  ship  and  gentle- 
men alternately  quarrelling  and  swearing  never- 
ending  friendship;  but  these  become  quiescent 
after  a  while.  A  young  moon,  scarcely  half 
formed,  comes  up  and  beams  on  the  river;  the 
stars  in  the  dark  blue  sky  are  out  in  their  fullest 
strength.  Gilbert,  sitting  next  to  Kittie,  finds 
that  when,  by  accident,  his  foot  touches  for  one 
moment  her  small,  brown  shoe,  a  swift  rush  of 
excitement  makes  him  flush.  He  interrupts  the 
remark  he  is  making  and  looks  at  the  eyes  under 
the  wide  brim  of  her  straw  hat. 

"Let  me  see,"  says  Gilbert  reflectively; 
"have  I  ever  asked  you  to  marry  me,  Kittie  ?  " 

The  flower  at  her  bodice  stops  for  a  moment 
its  regular  movement. 

"There  was  some  vague  talk  in  regard  to  the 


affair,"  she  says,  laughing  a  little  nervously, 
"but  I  fancy  nothing  definite  was  settled." 

"  I  didn't  give  you  a  ring?  " 

"Oh,  dear,  no!     No." 

'•  That  was  very  thoughtless  of  me.  I  must 
remedy  it  as  soon  as  possible.  And,  Kittie " 

"Yes." 

"Shall  we  talk  quite  seriously  for  just  one 
minute?" 

"  It's  a  long  time,"  she  says. 

"  Supposing  I  were  to  tell  you  that  I  care  for 
you  more  than  every  other  woman  in  the  world  ? 
Supposing  I  were  to  tell  you  that  with  your  help 
I  should  feel  the  more  confident  of  making  my 
way  in  the  world.  Supposing  I  were  to  tell  you 
that  I  want  to  marry  you  soon — soon.  Suppos- 
ing I  were  to  say  that  I  believe  you  to  be  the 
dearest  and  the  sweetest " 

"No,  no,"  she  whispers.  "I'm  only  just  .a 
girl.  Don't  think  I  am  any  thing  more." 

"And  will  you  marry  me,  dear  love,"  he  says 
anxiously,  "  as  soon  as  I  like  ?  " 

She  looks  across  the  deck  at  the  winking 
eyes  of  the  warehouses.  A  boat  with  the  peak- 
capped,  reefer-jacketed  Thames  Police  comes 
alongside  one  of  the  huge  Norwegian  steamers, 
8 


and  the  sergeant,  sitting  at  the  bow,  flashes  the 
light  of  the  lantern  on  the  ship's  side.  The 
singing  at  the  other  end  of  the  Swiftsure  comes 
faintly  now,  for  the  singers  are  tired. 

"Dear  heart,"  she  says  softly,  "I  love  you 
too  well  to  say  no  !  " 

His  lips  have  been  very  near,  under  the  brim 
of  her  straw  hat,  to  her  little  white  ear.  They 
are  nearer  now — and  nearer. 

"I  believe,  Gilbert,"  declares  Kittie,  putting 
her  big  hat  straight,  "that,  with  ordinary  luck, 
we  shall  be  a  very  happy  young  couple." 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  feelings  of  an  affianced  youth  on  the  morn- 
ing following  his  engagement  are  said  to  be  usu- 
ally those  of  extreme  satisfaction  with  the  world. 
Proposals,  it  is  notorious,  are  generally  made 
at  eventide;  twilight  has  often  been  especially 
recommended  by  careful  watchers  of  the  game. 
The  indecision  of  the  atmosphere  assists  some- 
how to  attune  the  mind  to  the  desirable  key.  It 
is  doubtless  a  want  of  knowledge  of  this  that  has 
sent  so  many  men  through  life  in  the  deplorable 
state  of  bachelorhood.  They  have  asked  for 
hearts  and  hands  on  foggy  days;  they  have,  per- 
haps, called  quite  early  in  the  afternoon;  they 
have  chosen  moments  when  all  that  the  lady 
really  required  was,  not  a  husband,  but  a  cup 
of  tea. 

Gilbert,  parting  his  hair  with  some  accuracy 
before  his  mirror,  looked  thoughtfully  at  him- 
self and  flushed  with  pleasure  as  he  thought  of 
the  previous  evening.  He  picked  out  a  necktie 
Kittie  had  once  referred  to  appreciatively. 


n6 


"Hullo!" 

"It's  odly  Bister  Webbe,  sir,"  said  Emyrn- 
trude.  "Shall  I  ask  hib  to  wait?" 

"Tell  him  to  come  in  here,"  said  Gilbert. 
And  Bradley  Webbe  stamped  into  the  bedroom. 

"I  say,"  said  Webbe,  "  I  want  to  go  away  for 
a  week  rather  urgently,  and  I  want  you,  Gilbert, 
to  look  out.  You  can  manage,  can't  you  ?  Lucas 
will  give  you  a  hand." 

"I've  got  two  already,"  said  Gilbert.  "When 
do  you  come  back  ? " 

"  I  sha'n't  be  longer  than  I  can  help,  old  chap. 
Fact  is,  there's  some  money  affair  going  on  down 
where  my  people  used  to  live;  and  if  it  comes  out 
right,  it  will  be  rather  a  fine  thing  for  me." 

"Good  luck  !  "  said  Gilbert. 

Gilbert  waltzed  a  few  steps  to  the  cupboard 
for  his  coat: 

"Anything  happened?"  asked  Bradley 
Webbe. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ? " 

"This  gayety  of  manner — this  Gaiety  Theatre 
manner — is  not  usual  with  you.  You  are  gener- 
ally a  sedate  youth." 

Gilbert  took  Bradley  Webbe's  arm  and  led  him 
into  the  sitting-room. 


"Have  one  cup  of  coffee,"  he  said;  "and  if 
you'll  promise  to  keep  the  information  secret, 
perhaps  I'll  tell  you." 

"Is  it  worth  printing?"  asked  the  journalist 
cautiously. 

"  Oh,  no  !  It  interests  no  one  but  the  parties 
concerned." 

"I've  had  breakfast,"  said  Bradley  Webbe, 
"and  I  want  to  be  off;  but  your  air  of  mystery, 
young  sir,  attracts  me."  He  sat  down  with  a 
fine  mock  melodramatic  air.  "  Tell  me  the  story, 
fair  youth." 

"Sugar?" 

"Tons!  "  said  Bradley  Webbe. 

They  talked  about  the  current  number  of  the 
Budget  and  the  relative  value  of  the  younger 
black-and-white  artists.  Bradley  Webbe,  being 
one  of  the  shrewd  fellows  of  this  world,  had 
ever  a  wary  eye  for  youths  who  had  not  yet 
arrived. 

"  It  won't  be  a  bad  number,"  said  Webbe,  sum- 
ming up;  "and  so  long  as  the  Proprietor  is 
satisfied,  nothing  matters." 

"What  would  happen  if  he  were  not  satis- 
fied ?  I  suppose  he  would  stop  the  whole  con- 
cern ? " 


n8 


"Capital,  my  dear  Gilbert,  is  able  to  do  just 
what  it  darn  well  likes." 

"  I  shouldn't  care  to  be  thrown  out  of  a  berth 
just  now,"  said  Gilbert  apprehensively.  "  That 
would  lack  all  elements  of  fun." 

"I,  too,  should  feel  more  independent  if  I  had 
money  to  fall  back  upon.  You  see  " — Bradley 
Webbe  turned  and  looked  out  of  one  of  the 
windows — "one  might  get  married." 

"More  than  one.     Say  two." 

"Well,  two  then.  I  suppose  that  is  the  correct 
total." 

"  But  why  get  married  ?  Has  some  one  given 
you  a  white  waistcoat  ?  " 

"The  question  has  not  yet  arrived  at  that 
stage.  In  fact,  I — I  haven't  asked  the  lady." 

"You  mustn't  forget  to  do  that,"  advised 
Gilbert.  He  took  a  second  egg  and  tapped  it  to 
the  rhythm  of  his  quotation: 

"  '  Fair  ladies  by  faint  hearts  were  never  won  ; 
Win  their  love  swiftly,  lest  they  turn  and  run.' " 

"These  matters  are  not  to  be  settled,"  said 
Bradley  Webbe,  "by  irresponsible  youths  of  no 
experience." 

"My  good  chap,"  said  Gilbert  joyously,   "I 


have  had  more  experience  in  this  world  than 

I  beg  pardon.  I  ought  not  to  brag.  Does  the 
damsel  like  you  ?  " 

"That's  rather  difficult  to  say — for  certain." 

"  She  has  never  thrown  any  thing  at  you  ?  " 

Webbe  shook  his  head. 

"Come,  now,  that's  encouraging.  Can  I  help 
the  matter  to  a  happy  solution  ? " 

"Why,  do  you  know,  Gilbert,"  cried  Webbe, 
starting  up,  "I  rather  think  you  could.  I  can 
rely  on  you  ?" 

"The  Bank  of  England  is,  as  compared  to  me, 
a  mere  reed." 

"You  might  help  me,"  went  on  Webbe,  speak- 
ing quickly,  "by  saying  something  to  her  about 
me  in  a  casual  way  when  opportunity  offered. 
Of  course,  you  wouldn't  let  her  see  that  it  was 
intentional." 

"  Of  course  not." 

"  But  a  word  or  two  might  make  a  lot  of  dif- 
ference. I'm  not  a  bad  sort  of  fellow,  and  I 
think  I  should  make  a  fairly  good  husband. 
And  I'm  energetic  and " 

"One  moment,  Webbe.  I  must  put  these 
things  down  or  I  shall  forget  them." 

"  It  sounds  rather  stupid,  I  know,"  said  Webbe 


120 


apologetically,  "  but  I'm  rather  anxious  about 
the  matter.  It  makes  a  lot  of  difference  to  a 
man  whether  he  gets  the  wife  he  wants,  or 
whether  he  gets  one " 

"Whom  nobody  wants.  Is  there  any  thing 
else  ? " 

"Let  me  think,"  said  Bradley  Webbe,  with  a 
pleasant  laugh.  "  I  had  one  or  two  other  virtues, 
I  think." 

"  Try  your  waistcoat  pocket." 

"Well,  you  might  bear  in  mind  generally  that 
I'm  steady,  and  "  (Bradley  Webbe  ran  his  hand 
through  his  thick  red  hair,  and  laughed  a  little 
awkwardly)  "and — I'm  fairly  honest,  and " 

"You're  a  very  good  chap,"  said  Gilbert 
earnestly,  "and  I'll  do  all  I  can.  Are  you  off 
now  ?  I  sha'n't  see  you  before  you  leave,  I 
suppose  ?" 

"I  am  going  at  once.  Here's  an  address  that 
you  can  send  letters  to.  And  don't  forget  to 
do  that  article  on  the  Chinese  shop,  will  you  ? 
We've  got  the  illustrations." 

"I — I  was  going  to  make  a  call,  but  I'll  do  it 
this  evening — the  Chinese  thing.  Good-by." 

Bradley  Webbe  found  his  hat,  and  stood  at  the 
doorway. 


"And,  Gilbert;  if  you  have  a  chance,  you  will 
do  what  I  asked  you  ?  " 

"There's  only  one  detail  that  you  have  for- 
gotten; you  haven't  mentioned  the  name." 

"  Haven't  I  really  ?  Perhaps  I  thought  you 
had  guessed.  But  I  quite  thought  I  had  men- 
tioned that  Miss  Reade " 

"  Kittle  Reade  ?" 

"I  shall  call  her  Kittie  some  day,  if  all  goes 
well.  Good-by,  Gilbert.  Keep  a  good  look-out, 
won't  you  ? " 

The  door  closed,  but  the  footsteps  returned 
hurriedly. 

"  I  say,  Gilbert !  I  beg  your  pardon  really. 
I'm  absolutely  selfish  when  I  am  thinking  of  this 
particular  subject.  What  was  your  secret?" 

"  My  secret  !  " 

"  You  said  you  had  something  to  tell  me  when 
I  came  in." 

Gilbert  went  toward  the  excellent  Webbe  with 
much  gravity  of  demeanor,  and  put  his  hand 
upon  his  shoulder. 

"  Since  I  spoke,"  said  Gilbert,  "  the  affairs  of 
Europe  have  assumed  a  more  complicated  atti- 
tude, and  it  would  ill  become  a  wary  Cabinet 
Minister  like  myself  to  disclose  Imperial  secrets. 


The  honorable  member  will  therefore  kindly 
allow  me  to  postpone  my  answer  to  the  question 
on  the  paper." 

The  door  closed  again  on  Webbe's  good- 
tempered  laugh.  Gilbert  whistled  very  slowly  a 
rollicking  air  and  took  his  pipe  and  his  news- 
paper. 

"Poor  old  Webbe  !  "  he  said  with  genuine 
concern.  "  Upon  my  word  I  feel  quite  sorry 
for  him.  But  I'm  glad  the  dearest  possible  is 
mine.  I  am  not  going  to  lose  her." 

Nevertheless  it  did  occur  to  Gilbert,  late  in  the 
day,  that  he  had  acted  in  a  perfectly  conventional 
manner  in  his  affair  of  the  heart;  that  he  had 
exhibited  none  of  the  calmness  and  forethought 
which  a  man  of  his  ripe  experience  should  have 
exhibited.  A  note  from  Kittle,  enclosing  a 
cabinet  photograph  of  herself,  dispelled  the 
shadow  of  these  thoughts.  It  was  such  a  very 
charming  note  that  it  was  capable  of  doing 
almost  any  thing.  Gilbert  took  an  opportunity, 
when  Master  Barling  left  the  room,  to  press  the 
photograph  to  his  lips  and  to  place  it  with  much 
care  in  his  breast  pocket.  The  arrival  of  the 
letter  had,  indeed,  a  most  disturbing  effect  upon 
the  infatuated  youth.  He  found  himself  drawing 


123 


her  face  on  the  blotting-pad;  he  bega'n  a  letter 
to  an  archdeacon,  returning  a  humorous  story, 
with  "  My  dearest  and  loveliest  girl,"  and 
detected  the  clerical  error  just  in  time. 

"If  it  wasn't  for  this  confounded  Chinese 
thing,"  remarked  Gilbert  with  an  injured  air,  4<  I 
could  call  there  to-night." 

It  is  not  by  permitting  mere  sentiment  to  inter- 
fere with  work  that  literary  men  make  their  way. 
This  Gilbert  knew.  Therefore,  at  seven  o'clock 
that  evening,  Limehouse  Causeway:  Limehouse 
Causeway  guarded  at  the  East  India  Dock  Road 
end  by  stout  women  in  no  hats,  and  oiled  hair  and 
white  aprons,  to  whom  Lascars  and  Scandinavian 
sailors  threw  words  of  raillery  as  they  passed. 
A  scent  of  tarred  goods  and  a  scent  of  boiling 
soup;  at  the  door  of  a  shop  headed  "  Lew  Ching 
&  Co.,"  three  Chinamen  arguing.  At  the 
other  end  of  the  narrow  street  an  ebony-faced 
sailor,  dancing  for  his  own  gratification  a  series  of 
intricate  steps,  creating  no  special  interest  on  the 
part  Of  the  occupants  of  doorsteps,  but  causing 
much  perturbation  to  the  temper  of  a  dirty  white 
little  dog,  who  barked  at  the  shining-faced 
dancer  and  then  ran  away  and  barked  excitedly, 
as  one  demanding  the  police.  On  the  window- 


124 


sill  over  Lew  Ching's  shop  a  bright  scarlet  coun- 
terpane fluttered;  the  scent  of  an  uncommonly 
good  cigar,  smoked  by  an  unseen  person,  came 
idly.  Gilbert  stood  still  and  fixed  the  entire 
picture  on  his  mind.  Then  he  entered  the  shop 
of  Lew  Ching  and  made  a  trifling  purchase  and 
looked  carefully  around.  Lew  Ching  himself,  a 
yellow-faced,  bony-cheeked  celestial,  in  an  incon- 
gruous bowler  hat  and  a  drab  cloak,  smiled  amia- 
bly at  his  customer,  and  sold  him  a  small  pack  of 
Chinese  playing  cards  at  ten  times  the  usual 
price,  with  much  geniality. 

"What's  the  idea  of  this  thing  on  the 
counter  ? "  asked  Gilbert.  He  pointed  to  the 
contrivance  for  counting. 

"Make  up  figure,"  said  Lew  Ching;  "count 
lil  money." 

"  And  do  you  do  pretty  well  ?  " 

"Do  vel  ba'ly,"  complained  the  Chinaman. 
"Sailor  no  coma  see  poor  Lew  Ching.  Forget 
poor  Lew  Ching.  Ba'  lot,  sailor  man.  He  no 
good." 

"That's  a  pity.  And  do  you  occupy  all  this 
house  ? " 

"How?" 

Gilbert  explained  his  question  more  precisely, 


125 


and  Lew  Ching  in  his  loose-tongued  English 
replied  that  he  let  his  rooms.  Lew  Ching,  look- 
ing narrowly  at  the  inquisitive  journalist,  became 
suddenly  reserved,  fearing  perhaps  an  approach 
to  the  subject  of  opium.  Some  one  came  down 
the  stairs,  and  passing  through  the  dark  little 
shop  spoke  casually  to  Lew  Ching  and  went  on 
to  the  door.  He  stood  there  in  the  evening  sun- 
light for  a  moment,  and  Gilbert  looked  at  him. 

"How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Ford  ? "  he  said.  "  We 
meet  again  in  an  odd  corner." 

Mr.  Ford  (with  no  blue  spectacles)  came  back 
into  Lew  Ching's  shop,  and  failed  for  a  moment, 
in  the  dim  light,  to  recognize  Gilbert. 

"  How  do  you  know  my  name  ? "  he  demanded 
with  some  acerbity. 

"Well,  you  gave  me  your  card  on  the  boat  last 
night  and " 

"I  beg  your  pardon  really."  His  manner 
changed  at  once.  "  I  beg  your  pardon.  You  are 
the  young  journalist  who  was  with — with " 

"Miss  Reade." 

"  And  you  are  here  for  copy  ? " 

"  That  was  the  idea,"  said  Gilbert. 

"  Do  you  know  Chinese  ? " 

"  Heavens,  no  !  " 


126 


"Perhaps  I  can  help  you,  then."  He  spoke 
again  to  Lew  Ching,  and  Lew  Ching  bowed 
respectfully.  "I  live  over  this  shop.  Come  up- 
stairs and  I'll  tell  you  any  thing  you  want  to 
know." 

"  You're  very  kind." 

"Oh,  no,  I'm  not  !"  said  Mr.  Ford  obstinately; 
"  I  happen  to  be  in  the  humor  to  talk.  That's  all, " 

Gilbert  followed  him  up  the  rickety  staircase 
to  the  front  room  on  the  first  floor.  Mr.  Ford 
turned  up  the  light  of  a  red  shaded  lamp  in  the 
corner,  and  Gilbert  gave  an  involuntary  excla- 
mation of  surprise.  The  room  was  handsomely 
and  quaintly  furnished  in  the  Chinese  style  ; 
Gilbert  had  seen  some  photographs  of  interiors 
at  Hankow  that  were  exactly  similar.  His  host 
sat  on  a  rug  and  poured  out  some  wine  into  a 
long-stemmed  glass. 

"Are  you  afraid  to  drink  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  think  perhaps  I'd  rather  not." 

Mr.  Ford  laughed  good-humoredly  and  stroked 
the  carpet  on  which  he  was  sitting. 

"  You  are  cautious,  Mr.  Gilbert." 

"It  is  a  trait  that  I  endeavor  to  cultivate. 
'  He  was  circumspect '  is  the  epitaph  that  I  have 
written  for  my  own  mourning  cards." 


127 


"It  is  not  a  bad  idea,"  agreed  Ford,  "within 
certain  limits.  Tell  me  what  you  want  to  know 
of  the  Chinese  quarter  in  London." 

Fifteen  minutes  with  the  eccentric  person 
seated  on  the  yellow  carpet  placed  the  Budget 
youth  in  possession  of  all  the  facts  that  he  re- 
quired. As  Ford  became  interested  in  his  own 
descriptions  the  brusqueness  of  manner  and  the 
harshness  of  accent  disappeared;  in  its  place 
came  a  refinement  of  tone  that  Gilbert  did  not 
fail  to  notice. 

"  Tell  me  something  now  for  my  own  personal 
information,"  asked  Gilbert. 

"Any  thing  that  does  not  concern  myself,  I 
shall  be " 

"But  I  am  afraid  it  does.  I  want  to  know 
why " 

Ford  held  up  his  hand  for  silence.  He  took 
a  cigarette  from  a  brass  lacquered  bowl,  and 
lighting  it,  looked  up  as  the  first  puff  of  smoke 
wandered  round  the  room  in  search  of  the  win- 
dow. Then  he  laughed  a  queer,  short  laugh. 

"Decidedly  I  am  in  an  odd  humor  this  even- 
ing. I  am  going  to  tell  you— you  whom  I  met 
only  yesterday — more  than  I  have  told  any  one 
else  in  the  world." 


128 


He  paused  and  Gilbert  nodded. 

"  But,"  he  went  on  quickly,  "  I  am  not  going 
to  tell  you  much.  You  will  have  to  fill  in  the 
details  for  yourself,  mind.  All  that  I  am  going 
to  tell  you  is  that  I  am  not  one  man  but" — he 
coughed — "but  ten  !  " 

He  looked  at  Gilbert  to  see  the  effect  of  this 
statement.  Gilbert  inclined  his  head,  and  re- 
marked politely  that  ten  was  a  good  round 
number. 

"Ten  different  and  distinct  persons,"  cried 
Ford,  holding  up  the  fingers  of  his  hands;  "  ten! 
In  the  course  of  this  current  year  I  have  already 
assumed  three  of  these.  A  student  of  foreign 
life  near  the  docks  is  No.  8  on  the  list.  No.  9 
on  the  list  is — no  !  There  is  no  necessity  to 
trouble  you  with  that." 

"Is  the  student  of  foreign  life  near  the  docks 
about  to  relinquish  his  existence  ?" 

"  I  think  he  has  two  days  longer  to  exist,"  an- 
swered Ford. 

"  And  do  you  like  the  life — I  mean  the  lives  ? " 

"  Of  course  I  do.  What  a  particularly  stupid 
question  to  ask  ! " 

"  It  wasn't  very  intelligent,"  confessed  Gilbert. 

"Have  you   never  felt   tired  of  the    hideous 


I2Q 


monotony  of  the  ordinary  career  of  men  ?  Have 
you  never  considered  with  horror  the  picture  of 
life  with  the  same  eternal  person  at  the  opposite 
end  of  the  breakfast-table  each  morning,  the 
same  work  at  the  same  office,  the  same  calls  on 
the  same  people — and  all  this  to  go  on  for  the 
rest  of  your  existence.  My  God  !  why  is  it 
people  don't  scream  out  against  this  persistent 
repetition  of  events  ?  " 

"I  know,"  said  Gilbert. 

"Tell  me,  then." 

" Because  they  like  it." 

Ford  dropped  the  end  of  his  cigarette  into 
another  brass  bowl,  and  stroked  his  clean-shaven 
chin.  A  change  came  into  his  eyes,  and  they 
twinkled. 

"I  suppose,  then,  you  mean  to  suggest," 
he  said  good-temperedly,  "that  I  am  a  little 
mad." 

"All  intelligent  men  are,"  said  Gilbert. 

"  Then  I'm  mad  in  a  devilishly  new  and  amus- 
ing way.  You  must  confess  that.  I  am  trying 
to  enjoy  life  as  much  as " 

"  Ten  men  ?" 

"  Yes  !  "  Mr.  Ford  rose  to  his  feet  and  patted 
Gilbert's  back  approvingly.  "  That's  just  it. 
9 


130 


When  I  was  only  one  man  I  used  to  have  serious 
thoughts  of  suicide." 

"And  now  ? " 

"  Why,  now,  I  commit  suicide  whenever  I 
have  a  mind  to.  To-morrow  night,  in  all  prob- 
ability, the  student  of  foreign  life  near  the  docks 
will  cease  for  a  year  to  exist.  Very  well,  then. 
What  happens  is  this  :  There  is  a  new  lodger  in 
furnished  apartments  in  Park  Place,  St.  James's; 
a  military  man,  who  reads  the  service  papers  and 
has  his  own  idea  about  Lord  Wolseley." 

"  Does  he  live  long  ?  " 

"His,"  said  Ford  with  candor,  "is  not  a  long 
existence.  The  moment  that  he  is  bored  " — he 
gave  an  expressive  wave  of  the  hand — "  out  he 
goes." 

"  It's  a  perfectly  delightful  idea,"  said  Gilbert. 
Then  he  added,  "for  those  who  like  it." 

"These  cigars  came  from  Cuba,"  said  Ford. 
"  Take  one.  And  tell  me  six  words  about  your- 
self. About  your  future.  Only  give  me  the 
outline,  or  you  will  weary  me." 

"I  shall  marry  a  lady  named  Miss  Katherine 
Reade " 

"Whom  I  met  yesterday.  She  is  entirely 
charming." 


"  I  shall  scheme  and  contrive  and  do  all  I  can 
to  become  a  successful  man.  I  believe  many 
young  men  lose  a  good  deal  of  the  best  time  of 
their  life  by  a  too  careful  consideration  of  others 
and  by  a  want  of  push.  I  have  made  up  my 
mind  not  to  let  those  considerations  bar  me.  It 
happens  that  I  am  in  an  especially  fortunate 
position." 

"  It  will  be  interesting  to  see  how  it  turns  out," 
said  Mr.  Ford.  "  Let  me  go  down  stairs  first." 

Gilbert  nodded  good-night  to  the  drab-gowned 
Lew  Ching,  and  Ford,  without  his  hat,  saw  him 
up  to  the  end  of  Limehouse  Causeway. 

"You  must  take  care  not  to  ride  your  princi- 
ples too  hard,"  he  said.  "They  break  down  if 
you  do,  and  the  last  hurdle  finds  you  without 
a  jump  left  in  you.  And,  above  all,  stick  close 
to  Miss — Miss  Reade." 

"I  mean  to,"  said  Gilbert. 

"A  sensible  girl  can  often  make  her  husband 
continue  to  be  her  sweetheart  all  his  life.  You 
won't  go  far  wrong  if  you  go  through  life  with 
her.  I  have  never  called  myself  a  judge  of 
character,  but  I  am  one  nevertheless.  And  if  I 
run  across  you  again,  I  shall  ask  you  how  the 
scheme  progresses." 


132 


"Do,"  said  Gilbert. 

"You  will  get  a  tram  from  the  corner  down 
there  to  Bloomsbury  through  the  Commercial 
Road.  Good-night,  and  good  luck  to  you." 

"  By  the  bye,"  said  Gilbert.  "  Who  were  you 
in  the  first  place  before  you  multiplied  yourself 
by  ten? " 

Mr.  Ford  frowned  slightly. 

"I  was  the  son  of  a  Scotch  earl, — not,  I 
regret  to  say,  a  Representative  peer, — and  I 
married  an  American  lady  whose  father  knew 
the  last  word  about  pigs.  She  died,  and  then 
I  died,  and " 

"Is  this  true  ?" 

"Oh,  dear,  no!"  said  Mr.  Ford  pleasantly, 
"oh,  no!  It  is  not  true.  But  you  asked  a 
question  that  you  had  no  business  to  ask,  and 
I  was  giving  it  an  appropriate  answer." 


CHAPTER  VIII 

IT  really  seemed  that  the  world  was  going 
very  well  with  young  Gilbert.  The  Proprietor  of 
the  Budget,  over  green  Chartreuse  after  dinner, 
assured  him  that  he  was  a  youth  in  whom  he  (the 
Proprietor)  was  determined  to  take  a  special 
and  a  lively  interest,  and  the  Proprietor  of  the 
Biidget  was  notoriously  a  man  of  generous 
impulse.  This  was  a  fact  known  to  all  England. 
When,  for  instance,  during  his  racing  craze,  he 
won  a  big  race  with  Liverno,  he  straightway 
gave  to  the  jockey  the  successful  Liverno  as 
token  of  his  content.  When,  again,  during  his 
music-hall  craze,  Little  Toff  one  Saturday  even- 
ing raised  the  roof  of  the  hall — "literally  raised 
it  "  the  professional  organs  put  in,  but  this  was 
an  exaggeration — with  his  new  song,  "  We  can't 
do  without  'em,"  did  he  not  go  round  to  the 
back  and  present  the  Little  Toff  with  a  diamond 
ring  of  excellent  value  ?  Emphatically,  the  Pro- 
prietor of  the  Budget  was  a  good  man  to  have  on 
your  side. 


134 

Moreover,  Mrs.  Brentford  had  been  as  good 
as  her  word,  and  an  easy-going  editor  had  written 
in  a  kindly  way  to  Gilbert  at  her  request.  Miss 
Kittie  Reade  being  informed  of  this  fact,  and  of 
his  indebtedness  to  Mrs.  Brentford,  bit  her  lips 
and  frowned  her  pretty  eyebrows  and  went 
straightway  to  the  gymnasium  in  Albany  Street, 
where  she  punched  the  ball  with  such  determina- 
tion and  vigor  for  near  upon  half  an  hour  that 
she  felt  afterward  the  calmer  for  the  exercise. 

"I  hope  I  haven't  hurt  her,"  said  Kittie  to 
herself,  "much." 

Gilbert,  having  done  a  hard  morning's  work  in 
his  rooms  at  Doughty  Street,  sat  in  his  easy  chair 
near  the  window  and  looked  out  upon  Blooms- 
bury. 

"I  don't  seem  to  earn  any  thing  great  at  this 
odd  work,"  he  said;  "but  there's  no  harm  in 
slogging  away.  And  there's  the  Budget  money — 
that's  a  fixed  income,  and  there's  my  reserve 
fund  and — well,  I  mustn't  complain." 

A  scarlet-coated,  scarlet- faced  young  soldier 
was  walking  up  and  down  on  the  other  side  of 
the  street,  waiting  for  his  belated  sweetheart. 
The  soldier  tapped  his  leg  impatiently  with  his 
cane. 


135 


"And,"  continued  Gilbert,  "I  am  a  precious 
deal  better  off  in  every  way  than  I  was  at  this 
age  in  my  former  life.  The  dearest  possible  girl 
is  in  herself  enough  to  make  one  feel  a  million- 
naire.  Just  to  think  of  her  eyes  is  to  think  of 
countless  wealth."  He  hooked  her  photograph 
to  him  with  a  convenient  golf-club  and  kissed  it. 
"  The  dearest  possible,"  he  said. 

The  title  had  only  been  arrived  at  after  some 
hours  of  consideration.  It  had  made  Kittie 
flush  with  pleasure  when  he  had  first  called  her 
by  it,  and  a  week's  use  had  endeared  it  to  them 
both.  But  they  were  careful  not  to  use  it  in  the 
chilling  atmosphere  of  publicity — an  atmosphere 
that  always  contrives  to  make  terms  of  endear- 
ment appear  wholly  idiotic. 

"Here's  a  bessedger  with  a  letter,  Bister  Gil- 
bert," said  Ermyntrude  at  the  doorway,  "ad 
he's  a-waitidg  for  ad  adser." 

"Another  offer  of  the  Times  editorship,  I  sup- 
pose," said  Gilbert  with  a  bored  air. 

"  Do  they  wadt  you  to  be  editor  of  the  Tides, 
sir  ? " 

"  They  won't  take  no  for  an  answer,  Ermyn- 
trude. That's  what  /complain  of." 

"What  a  duisadce  ! "  said  the  small  servant. 


136 


Gilbert  scribbled  a  line  on  a  correspondence 
card  and  enclosed  it  in  an  envelope. 

"Let the  lad  take  that  to  Mrs.  Brentford,"  he 
said. 

Gilbert,  in  shining  hat  and  admirable  frock- 
coat,  looked  at  himself  in  the  Psyche  mirror  in 
his  bedroom  with  satisfaction.  Mrs.  Brentford 
had  asked  him  in  her  note  to  come  with  her  to 
the  Botanical  Gardens  that  afternoon,  and  Gil- 
bert felt  that  it  was  an  occasion  deserving  of 
some  special  attention  in  regard  to  his  habit. 

For  he  recognized  that  Mrs.  Brentford  was  not 
only  a  smart  and  an  acceptable  and  a  genial  per- 
son, but  also  one  likely  to  be  extremely  useful. 
Wherefore,  he  smoothed  his  silk  hat  carefully. 

"I  think  you  had  better  be  unusually  cordial 
with  her  this  afternoon,"  said  Gilbert  to  his 
reflection  in  the  mirror.  "I  am  afraid  that 
since  the  Thursday  at  Rosherville  you  have  been 
a  little  reserved  with  Mrs.  Brentford.  As  a 
cool,  level-headed,  sensible  youth,  Mr.  Gilbert, 
it  is  your  duty  not  to  quarrel  with  all  woman- 
kind just  because  you  are  engaged  to  one. 
There  can  be  no  harm,  my  dear  chap,  positively 
no  harm,  in  keeping  on  excellent  terms  with  Mrs. 
Brentford." 


137 


The  scarlet-faced  young  soldier  on  the  oppo- 
site side  of  the  street  was  growing  apoplectic  in 
his  impatience.  He  took  the  handkerchief  from 
his  sleeve  and  mopped  his  forehead.  His  lips 
moved  as  though  he  were  making  a  remark  to 
himself. 

"  'Ello  !  "  said  a  voice,  "  'ello !    Beed  'ere  lo'g  ? " 

The  short,  belated  maid  crossed  the  road  with 
an  air  of  perfect  assurance,  adjusting  the  red 
sash  on  her  white  dress  and  patting  her  back 
hair. 

"I  don't  know  what  you  call  long,"  growled 
the  scarlet-faced  soldier.  "I  seem  to 'a' been 
'ere  the  best  part  of  a  week." 

Ermyntrude  looked  up  at  him. 

"Well,"  she  said  calmly,  "give  us  a  kiss,  at 
ady  rate." 

The  scarlet-faced  young  soldier  bent  himself 
into  the  form  of  an  upside-down  L  and  did  as  he 
was  told.  Immediately  his  spirits  returned  and 
they  marched  off  in  the  best  of  tempers.  .  Gil- 
bert was  much  amused  at  the  victory  of  the 
small  servant. 

"  That's  the  result  of  strategy  and  impudence," 
he  exclaimed.  "  Savoir  faire  is  the  only  virtue 
that  one  really  wants." 


138 


He  took  a  hansom  clown  to  Queen's  Gate,  as 
being  in  accord  with  his  appearance,  and  the  page 
showed  him  into  the  drawing-room,  where  he 
waited  in  the  well-furnished  apartment.  Per- 
haps some  of  the  articles  in  the  room  were 
rather  heavy  in  appearance,  but  that  was  reassur- 
ing in  an  age  of  insecure  tables  and  unreliable 
chairs.  On  the  table  was  a  miniature,  which 
Gilbert  guessed  to  be  a  portrait  of  the  departed 
Mr.  Brentford. 

"It  is  quite  odd  that  I  should  find  you  look- 
ing at  that,"  said  Mrs.  Brentford.  There  was 
always  a  suggestion  of  regret  in  her  tone  when 
she  spoke  of  her  husband,  and  nearly  half  a  sigh. 
"For  some  reason  I  have  been  thinking  of  him 
a  good  deal." 

"I  seem  to  know  the  face." 

"I  don't  think  that  is  possible.  I  had  not 
met  you  until  after  I — I  lost  him."  Mrs.  Brent- 
ford sighed.  "  Until  he  had  gone  to  that  bourn 
from  which  no  traveller  ever  returns." 

"  If  a  traveller  ever  does  return,"  said  Gilbert, 
"  he  keeps  the  account  of  his  journey  very  quiet. 
Are  we  ready  ?" 

The  Gardens  were  at  their  best  and  brightest. 
A  Personage  was  expected, — an  Eastern  Person- 


139 

age, — and  a  band  was  stationed  on  an  improvised 
platform  near  the  large,  white-faced  conserva- 
tory, playing  acceptable  selections  from  the  latest 
go-as-you-please  musical  comedy.  To  avoid  the 
crowd,  Gilbert  and  Mrs.  Brentford  walked  along 
the  red-gravelled  paths  to  the  ornamental  water. 
The  scent  from  the  flowers  and  trees  came 
lazily;  and  away,  when  the  band  ceased  playing, 
they  could  hear  faintly  the  sibilant  sound  of 
women's  voices. 

"You  mustn't  thank  me,  Mr.  Gilbert,  for  any 
thing  that  I  have  been  able  to  do.  It  gives  me 
so  much  pleasure  that  I'm  afraid  it  becomes 
purely  a  selfish  act." 

"I  wish  I  could  do  something  to  show  how 
grateful  I  am,"  said  Gilbert. 

"Really?" 

"I  should  like  to  do  some  good  work  and 
bring  it  to  you  and  say " 

"Your  Christian  name  is  Gilbert?" 

"Yes,  Mrs.  Brentford." 

"It  is  an  odd  name,"  she  said  thoughtfully; 
"Gilbert  Gilbert." 

"The  fact  is,"  said  Gilbert,  "7  had  no  voice 
in  the  matter.  That  was  the  name  chosen  for 
me." 


140 


"  So  that  it  really  doesn't  matter  whether  you 
are  called  by  your  Christian  name  or  your  sur- 
name ?" 

"Celam'este'gair 

Mrs.  Brentford  drew  two  capital  G's  on  the 
red  gravel. 

''Then,"  she  said  a  little  nervously,  pointing 
to  the  first  G,  "I  think  I  should  like  to  call  you 
by  this  name." 

"There  is  no  earthly  reason,"  said  Gilbert, 
flushing,  "why  you  shouldn't." 

"  The  only  thing  is  that  you  mustn't  forget, 
please,  that  my  name  is  Gertrude.  That  is  to 
say,  when  we're  alone." 

"I  see.  When  we're  playing  our  usual  parts 
you  will  always  remain  Mrs.  Brentford." 

She  took  a  rose  from  her  belt  and  played  with 
it  nervously. 

"Yes,"  she  said  with  a  sigh,  "I  shall  always 
remain  Mrs.  Brentford." 

"That  question,"  said  Gilbert  gallantly — 
"  that  question  rests  with  you  for  decision. 
But  I  expect  you  are  much  happier  as  you  are. 
You  are  quite  free " 

"When  a  woman  is  free,  Gilbert,"  declared 
Mrs.  Brentford,  "she  wants  to  be  enslaved,  and 


141 


when  she  is  enslaved  she  screams  for  liberty. 
What  is  that  they  are  playing  now  ?  " 

It  was  the  Eastern  Personage's  National 
Anthem,  and  they  hurried  from  their  seats  to  see 
him.  The  well-dressed  mob  had  already  penned 
in  the  Eastern  Personage  with  so  much  complete- 
ness that  they  could  only  see  his  silk  hat;  and 
this,  although  a  good  silk  hat  and  a  shiny,  failed 
to  excite  enthusiasm  among  most  of  those  on 
the  outside  of  the  crowd.  There  were,  however, 
exceptions. 

"  By  gad,  Louisa,  this  is  a  sight  that  makes 
one  feel  the  greatness  of  England.  Here's  this 
Johnny  come  from  the  West  to  see  the  sights  of 
the  grand  old  country;  and  he'll  go  back  to  India, 
which  I — er — once  described  rather  well,  I  think, 

as  the — er — brightest  jewel  in  the Hullo, 

young  Gilbert.  How  are  you  ?  Allow  me." 

Captain  Dann  presented  Mrs.  Dann,  a  lady  of 
a  bleached  look,  with  much  empressement,  and  then 
lifted  his  hat  with  so  much  grace  to  Mrs.  Brent- 
ford that  Gilbert  was  forced  to  introduce  him. 

"We're  old  chums,  madam,"  said  Captain 
Dann  boisterously,  "  my  young  friend  Gilbert 
and  I.  I  dare  say  he  has  told  you  of  rather  a 
good  thing  that  I  recommended " 


142 


"I  did  hear  of  that,  Captain  Dann." 

"But  our  young  friend  here  was  too  cautious; 
too  cautious  by  half.  Perhaps  another  time " 

"You  must  let  me  know  if  there's  any  thing 
else  going,"  said  Gilbert  anxiously. 

"There  was  not  much  encouragement,"  said 
Captain  Dann,  "in  your  conduct  in  that  last 
affair.  If  I  trust  a  man,  I  expect  him  to  trust 
me.  Isn't  that  so,  Louisa  ?  " 

"Yes,  dear,"  said  the  faded  lady. 

"I  want  confidence  to  be  met  by  confidence, 
sir.  That's  me  all  the  world  over.  But  look 
here,  I'll  tell  you  what.  We'll  forget  all  about 
that  business." 

"  Did  the  other  man  buy  them  ?  " 

"Yes,  confound  him!  And  a  devilish  good 
thing  he  made  over  them.  You  ought  to  have 
had  them,  you  know.  I  said  to  my  wife — didn't 
I,  Louisa  ? " 

"Yes,  dear." 

"I  said  tp  my  wife  that  night,  I  said,  '  I  would 
rather  have  given  those  things  to  Mr.  Gilbert,'  I 
said,  '  than  have  sold  them  to  that  other  bounder.' 
I  believe  those  were  my  very  words,  Louisa  ?  " 

"Yes,  dear." 

"  Look  me  up,"  said  Captain  Dann  effusively, 


143 


"  look  me  up  at  any  time,  and  if  you  want  a  hint 
or  two  I'm  not  the  sort  to  bear  any  ill  will.  Am 
I,  Louisa  ?" 

"  No,  dear." 

"That  was  only  one  case  of  many,  my  boy," 
said  Captain  Dann.  "Such  chances  crop  up 
every  day  in  the  City.  The  great  thing  is  to  be 
on  the  spot,  and  to  take  instant  advantage  of 
them.  Instant  advantage,  my  dear  sir;  instant 
advantage.  Haven't  I  often  said  so,  Louisa  ?  " 

"Yes,  dear." 

"There!"  cried  Captain  Dann  triumphantly, 
as  though  that  proved  every  thing.  "  There  ! 
My  wife  has  heard  me  say  so." 

Mrs.  Brentford  spoke  to  the  monosyllabic 
lady,  and  Dann  drew  Gilbert  apart. 

"  A  wonderfully  shrewd  woman,  my  wife,"  said 
Captain  Dann  confidentially.  "Wonderfully 
shrewd !  An  old  head,  as  I  often  say  about  her, 
an  old  head  on  young  shoulders." 

Gilbert  glanced  at  the  reserved  lady,  and 
thought  that  the  shoulders,  too,  were  tolerably 
mature. 

"  I  came  across  her  first  at  a  dance  at  Wool- 
wich," went  on  Captain  Dann.  "  She  had  a  little 
money  of  her  own,  then,  and  in  ten  minutes  I 


144 


had  made  up  my  mind  that  she  and  no  one  else 
should  be  my  wife.  And  I  was  attentive  to  her, 
and  as  true  as  I  stand  here,  in  less  than  a  week — 
in  less  than  seven  days,  sir — that  woman  had  con- 
sented to  be  my  wife.  I've  heard  other  people 
complain  of  their  partners,  but  I've  always  found 
Louisa  quite  obedient.  Quite  obedient." 

Gilbert  remarked  that  marriage  was  always, 
to  some  extent,  an  experiment,  and  some  were 
successful  and  some 

"  The  way  I  put  it,  my  boy,  is  this  :  /  always 
say  that  marriage  is  a  lottery." 

Captain  Dann  stepped  back,  the  better  to  ob- 
serve how  Gilbert  was  affected  by  this  novel  and 
striking  way  of  putting  the  matter. 

"That  puts  the  whole  difficulty  in  a  nutshell, 
Gilbert.  Make  a  note  of  it,  and  keep  it  well  in 
mind.  An  old  stager  like  myself  hasn't  lived  in 
this  world  all  these  years  for  nothing.  Experi- 
ence is  the  best  schoolmaster." 

Gilbert  agreed.  He  felt  that  he  had  every 
reason  to  do  so.  But  for  his  own  store  of  knowl- 
edge of  the  world,  he  was  quite  sure  he  would 
commit  blunders  every  day  of  his  own  life. 

"I  must  give  you  a  call  again,  Dann,"  he 
said. 


145 


"  You  know  my  address  ?  Number  a  hundred 
and " 

The  Eastern  Personage  came  near  them,  and 
the  clearance  of  the  crowd  enabled  Gilbert  and 
Mrs.  Brentford  to  escape  from  Captain  Dann's 
attention.  They  strolled  off  to  chairs  which 
they  found  under  a  large  tree  whose  leaves  af- 
forded welcome  shade. 

"A  queer  fellow,"  said  Gilbert,  laughing; 
"but  really  there's  something  in  him.  I  was  a 
fool  not  to  take  his  advice  in  regard  to  that 
Merry,  Merry  England  affair." 

"It  is  in  money  matters  that  I  sometimes  feel 
my  loneliness,"  she  said.  "I  get  many  invita- 
tions to  speculate,  and  I  want  to  be  able  to 
turn  to  somebody  who  has  a  man's  knowledge  of 
affairs  and  ask  his  advice.  Do  you  see  what  I 
mean,  Gilbert  ? " 

"Well,  Mrs.  Brentford " 

"  It  is  not  well,"  she  interrupted.  "  Have  you 
so  soon  forgotten  that  my  name  is  Gertrude  ? " 

"  I  was  going  to  say  that  if  I  can  be  of  any  use 
in  that  way  I  shall  only  be  too  glad." 

It  really  seemed  the  least  that  the  confident 
young  man  could  say.  Mrs.  Brentford  placed 
her  hand  lightly  for  a  moment  on  his  knee. 


146 


"You  mustn't  forget  that  promise,"  she  said; 
"  I  shall  bank  it  with  any  other  promises  that 
you  give  me — and  some  day — some  day — I  shall 
draw  upon  them." 

''The  check  will  be  met— Gertrude."  He 
smiled  as  he  spoke.  There  is  nothing  quite  so 
startling  as  the  using  of  a  prtnom  for  the  first 
time.  "It's  a  good  name,  Gertrude,"  he  added. 

"It  sounds  good  to  hear  you  speak  it." 

The  trees  blurred  oddly  in  the  sight  of  the 
flattered  youth;  the  white-faced  conservatory 
danced  an  awkward  but  perfectly  decorous  pas 
seul.  He  held  his  breath  for  a  moment  and  bit 
his  lips.  Then  the  gardens  righted  themselves, 
and  behaved  as  though  nothing  had  happened. 

"  Kittie  !  "  he  said  to  himself  reproachfully, 
"Kittie,  Kittie,  Kittie  !" 

They  had  tea  at  four  o'clock  in  Regent  Street. 
In  a  corner  of  the  restaurant  was  a  correctly 
dressed  man  with  a  spiked,  fair  mustache.  He 
held  up  a  Petit  Journal  pour  Rire  in  front  of  his 
face  as  soon  as  he  saw  Gilbert,  as  though  he  did 
not  wish  to  be  recognized.  There  were  chatter- 
ing French  folk  in  the  restaurant,  too,  and  a  few 
tired  English  girls,  who  had  been  to  the  Academy 
and  apparently  regretted  it  deeply.  Their  poor 


147 


heads,  they  said,  trying  to  fan  themselves  with 
the  small,  green-covered  catalogues,  were  simply 
splitting. 

"  I  like  restaurants,"  remarked  Gilbert. 
11  Nearly  every  patron  of  a  restaurant  is  a  freak 
of  Nature." 

"You  are  a  close  observer,"  said  Mrs.  Brent- 
ford admiringly. 

"It's  copy,"  said  Gilbert.  He  touched  by 
accident  the  lady's  small  foot  under  the  marble 
table,  and  she  did  not  withdraw  it. 

"  It  must  be  delightful,  Gilbert,  to  feel  that 
all  the  world  is  offering  you  plots,  and  that  you 
have  only  to  pick  and  choose.  Do  you  get  an 
idea  from  every-body  you  meet  ?" 

"  Not  every-body,"  said  Gilbert  importantly. 
It  would  have  made  a  retiring  youth  feel  con- 
ceited, this  gracious  interest,  and  Gilbert  was 
not  a  retiring  youth.  "  But  now  and  again  one 
strikes  oil.  I  came  across  a  good  well  a  night 
or  two  since." 

"Tell  me." 

Gilbert  diverted  Mrs.  Brentford  exceedingly 
by  an  exaggerated  account  of  his  visit  to  Lew 
Ching's  shop  and  his  encounter  with  the  man  of 
ten  lives.  An  anecdote  is  much  improved  by 


148 


artistic  accentuation  of  points.  The  naked  truth 
so  frequently  requires  drapery. 

"And  I  heard  him  as  I  came  away,"  concluded 
Gilbert,  "  singing  to  himself  a  queer  old  tenor 
song.  Imagine  the  situation.  A  dull,  sleepy 
street;  a  single  gas-light  at  the  end,  blowing 
gustily  ;  a  sound  of  women  using  the  language 
that  is  usual  in  Limehouse " 

"Dreadful!" 

"A  roaring  of  wind  from  the  river;  a  good 
tenor  voice  singing." 

"  I  am  always  fond  of  a  tenor  voice,"  remarked 
Mrs.  Brentford  thoughtfully.  "When  Mr. 

Brentford  was  alive "  She  stopped  and 

laughed.  "  That's  rather  like  the  conventional 
widow  of  the  comic  journals,  isn't  it  ?  I  must 
be  more  careful." 

"  It  is  so  easy,"  he  said  gently,  "not  to  for- 
get." 

"Thank  you,  Gilbert."  She  leaned  forward 
and  touched  lightly  the  hand  that  rested  on  the 
table.  "You  are  the  only  person  in  the  world 
who  understands  me.  I  wish  sometimes  that  we 
had  met  earlier,  so  that " 

"I  say,"  interrupted  Gilbert,  as  he  glanced  at 
the  clock,  "I  must  get  down  to  the  Budget 


149 


office.  Do  you  mind  if  I  see  you  into  a  han- 
som ? " 

As  they  were  leaving  the  restaurant,  the 
spiked-mustached  man  looked  over  the  top  of 
the  Petit  Journal  pour  Rire.  He  watched  the 
two  go  through  the  doorway.  He  watched  them 
saying  good-by,  and  he  saw  the  swift  look  of 
affection  that  Mrs.  Brentford  shot  at  the  youth. 
Then  the  well-dressed  man  with  the  mustache 
looked  at  himself  in  the  mirror  and  touched  the 
spiked  ends  and  whistled  softly. 

"Well,"  said  the  military-looking  man,  folding 
up  the  journal  carefully,  "I  should  never  have 
thought  it  possible.  And  he  told  me  in  Lime- 
house  Causeway  two  nights  ago  that Waiter, 

give  me  something  to  drink,  d you  !" 

That  evening  at  the  Budget  office  Miss  Kittie 
Reade  made  her  weekly  call,  and  when  Bradley 
Webbe  had  left  the  office  for  a  moment  to  find 
Master  Barling,  she  asked  Gilbert  what  he  had 
been  doing  that  day.  Gilbert  made  answer  that 
he  had  been  doing  nothing  particular,  and  he 
kissed  her  on  the  lips. 

"The  dearest  possible,"  he  whispered  affec- 
tionately. 


CHAPTER  IX 

IT  was  partly  with  relief  and  partly  with 
regret — but  mainly,  perhaps,  with  relief — that 
Gilbert  heard,  a  day  or  two  later,  that  Mrs. 
Brentford  was  leaving  town  for  Coblentz.  Mrs. 
Brentford  had  taken  a  dear  little  villa — it  was 
her  own  description — a  dear  little  villa  looking 
over  the  Rhine  Anlagen,  and  she  proposed  to 
stay  there  for  a  month  or  two.  The  agent  had 
guaranteed  it  to  be  nearly  covered  with  blue 
clematis,  and  the  name,  Villa  Hermosa,  could 
be  altered  for  the  time  of  occupancy  if  the 
temporary  tenant  so  desired — most  tenants,  so 
the  obliging  agent  said,  had  a  preference  for 
some  special  name  ;  a  Scotch  family  who  occu- 
pied it  for  a  month  last  year  had  called  the  small 
villa  Ben  Nevis. 

"You  must  be  sure  to  come  out  for  a  week  or 
two,"  wrote  Mrs.  Brentford.  "  A  rest  will  do 
you  good,  and  I  shall  have  some  bright  folk 
staying  with  me.  If  the  villa  happens  to  be  full, 
I  can  easily  book  rooms  for  you  at  one  of  the 


Coblentz  -hotels  facing  the  river.  You  will  like 
Coblentz.  The  German  ladies,  I  am  happy  to 
say,  are  all  singularly  plain,  and  they  dress  in 
the  fashion  that  was  popular  at  the  time  of  the 
Crimea.  You  must  call  and  say  good-by  to  me 
this  week." 

At  Alpha  Terrace  that  evening  Gilbert  men- 
tioned the  fact  of  Mrs.  Brentford's  approaching 
departure  to  Kittie,  and  Kittie  went  straight- 
way to  the  piano  and  played  an  air  of  special 
joyousness. 

"I  wonder  how  many  times  a  woman  would 
marry,  if  she  had  the  chance,  Gilbert?" 

"  Difficult  to  say,  dear.  The  woman  of 
Samaria " 

She  turned  round  on  the  music-stool  with  a 
swish  of  her  skirts. 

"  Do  you  like  her  ?  "  she  demanded. 

"Who?" 

"  Mrs.  Brentford." 

"Oh,  I  don't  know!"  said  Gilbert. 

"Yes,  you  do,  sir.     Tell  me  !  " 

"Well,"  said  Gilbert,  "she  tries  to  be 
pleasant." 

"Yes,"  said  Kittie  acutely,  "  I  noticed  that." 

"  But  we  needn't  talk  about  her." 


152 


"Good  gracious,  no!  There  are  many  more 
agreeable  topics." 

"  I  want  to  speak  to  you  about  something.  I 
have  been  asked  to  intercede  with  a  lady  on  be- 
half of  some  one  who  cares  for  her  a  good  deal, 
and  I  don't  know  quite  whether  to  do  it  at  all;  or, 
if  I  do  it,  I  am  not  sure  how  to  do  it." 

"I  thought  it  was  only  in  short  stories  that 
men  entrusted  that  task  toother  men,"  remarked 
Kittie. 

"Oh,  I  am  not  empowered  to  make  a  pro- 
posal." 

"That  sounds  more  real." 

"  I  am  only  to  say  words  that  shall  soften  the 
damsel's  heart  and  make  her  contemplate  my 
client  with  feelings  of  lively  emotion." 

"I  don't  like  the  idea  of  you  going  to  a  girl 
on  that  errand,"  said  Kittie  soberly.  She  rested 
on  the  arm  of  the  easy  chair  in  which  Gilbert  was 
sitting,  and  stroked  his  hair.  "  The  girl  is  likely 
enough  to  say,  'Speak  for  yourself,  John,'  as 
she  did  in  Longfellow." 

"  I  think  it  quite  likely,"  said  Gilbert  compla- 
cently. 

"  What  size  hat  do  you  take,  dear  ?  " 

Gilbert  gave  the  information. 


153 


"I  think  you  had  better  take  a  size  larger. 
Your  head  is  certainly  swelling." 

"Well,  Kittie,  it  is  of  no  use  disguising  the 
obvious,  is  it  ?  I  know  very  well  that  she  is  in 
love  with  me,  and " 

"Tell  me  her  name,"  said  Kittie  hotly,  "and 
I'll  box  her  ears." 

"I  wish  you  would.  That's  a  promise,  is  it? 
I  don't  believe  you'd  dare  to  do  it  ?" 

"  If  she's  as  big  as  the  side  of  a  house,"  said 
Miss  Kittie  Reade  definitely,  "  I'll  do  something 
to  her." 

"  She's  not  so  very  tall.  Just  about  your 
height." 

"Good  !  " 

"  In  fact,  dear  Kittie,  you — you  are  the  young 
person." 

She  stood  up,  flushing. 

"  Really  ? " 

"On  my  honor." 

She  fanned  her  face  with  a  sheet  of  drawing- 
paper. 

"This  is' romantic,"  she  said,  half-laughing. 
"  I  wonder  who  he  is." 

Gilbert  told  her,  and  Kittie  Reade  immediately 
became  grave. 


154 

"Poor  Mr.  Webbe ! "  she  said;  ''he's  a  good 
fellow." 

"  He's  a  better  fellow  than  I  am,"  said  Gilbert 
honestly. 

"He  is  always  quite  genuine." 

"I  don't  know  any  man,"  said  Gilbert,  "  for 
whom  I  have  greater  respect.  He  is  not  too  brill- 
iant, but  he's  a  good  worker,  and  some  day " 

"  He  has  been  kind  ever  since  I  first  began  to 
do  this  fashion  work." 

"  Bradley  Webbe,"  said  Gilbert,  "is  a  straight- 
forward, honest  sort  of  fellow,  with  a  great  de- 
sire to  be  perfectly  fair  toward  every-body  with 
whom  he  has  to  deal." 

"In  fact,"  said  Kittie,  with  a  return  to  her 
usual  brightness,  "  there  is  no  reason  why  I 
shouldn't  marry  him,  excepting  that " 

"That?" 

Kittie  folded  her  arms,  strode  across  the  room, 
and  spoke  over  her  shoulder  in  the  manner  of 
ladies  in  melodrama. 

"  Sir,"  she  said,  in  a  deep  voice,  "I  love  a — 
nother  ! " 

"  Dearest  girl !  " 

Mrs.  Reade  looked  in  at  the  doorway,  and 
greeted  Gilbert  with  great  effusiveness. 


155 


"  I'm  sure,"  said  Mrs.  Reade  joyously,  "  I  was 
saying  to  Kittie  only  the  other  night  how  much 
we  should  miss  Mr.  Gilbert,  if  he  left  off  calling, 
by  any  chance.  Somehow,  when  any  body  be- 
comes part  and  parcel " 

"We  are  just  going  out,  mamma;  Mr.  Gilbert 
and  I." 

"  Ah  !  "  said  Mrs.  Reade  bitterly,  with  her  usual 
sudden  change  of  manner,  "  there's  a  great  deal 
too  much  going  out  with  young  girls  of  the 
present  day.  I  remember  when  /  was  a  girl  I 
had  to  stay  indoors  and  do  crochet  work  or  some- 
thing useful.  Not" — with  much  asperity — "  not 
playing  about  with  drawing  new  costumes  of 
horrid  girls  with  bicycles " 

"The  work  brings  money." 

"  Money  !  "  Mrs.  Reade  was  very  wrath  at 
Kittie's  reminder.  "That's  all  some  of  you 
think  about.  Money,  indeed  !  There  are  plenty 
of  God's  gifts  in  the  world  that  will  do  you 
more  good  than  money.  What  do  you  say,  Mr. 
Gilbert  ? " 

Gilbert  answered  warily  that  there  was  a  good 
deal  to  be  said  on  both  sides.  Kittie  escaped  to 
fetch  her  hat  and  coat. 

"But  you  might  as  well  talk  to  a  deaf  wall," 


156 


said  Mrs.  Reade,  with  much  acrimony,  "  as  to 
try  and  knock  a  little  sense  into  girls.  /  don't 
know  what's  come  over  them,  really.  I'm  sure 
Kittie  will  go  so  far  sometimes  as  to — actually  to 
contradict  me  !  Me,  her  own  mother  !  " 

Gilbert  said  soothingly  that  it  was  the  tendency 
of  the  age. 

"  Bother  the  age  !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Reade  ex- 
plosively. "I've  got  no  patience  with  it.  I 
wonder  Parliament,  or  the  County  Council  or 
something,  doesn't  step  in  with  a  firm  hand  and 
stop  it." 

Mrs.  Reade  fanned  herself  vigorously  and  com- 
pressed her  lips  tightly,  as  ladies  do  who  dare 
not  trust  themselves  to  speak. 

"But  mind  you,  Mr.  Gilbert,"  she  said  pres- 
ently, "I  wouldn't  let  any  body  else  say  a  word 
against  her.  No  !  A  better  girl  or  a  sweeter- 
tempered  girl  never  lived.  She  can't  do  too 
much  for  her  silly  old  mother.  The  way  that 
dear  girl  nursed  me  when  I  was  down  with  in- 
fluenza I  shall  never  forget.  And  you  know,  Mr. 
Gilbert,  I'm  not  always  the  easiest  person  in  the 
world  to  manage." 

Gilbert  was  much  astonished. 

"No,"  said  the  old  lady  firmly,    "I  know  my 


faults;  I'm  not  blind.  We're  none  of  us  perfect, 
and " 

"The  perfect  woman,"  said  Gilbert,  "would 
be  a  perfect  nuisance." 

"Ah!"  said  Mrs.  Reade,  "how  well  you 
literary  gentlemen  put  these  things  !  I've  often 
regretted  that  I  never  kept  up  my  writing. 
When  I  went  to  school  up  at  Hampstead — a  good 

many  years  ago  now — I  used  to  write  the  most 

% 
beautiful  essays  on  'How  I  spent  my  holidays,' 

and  '  Love  for  animals,'  and  '  How  to  be  happy,' 
and  what  not.  Miss  Robertson,  the  writing- 
mistress,  used  to  say  that  I  wrote  a  better  hand 
than " 

Kittie  appeared. 

"  Ready  ?  "  she  asked. 

"Quite,"  said  Gilbert. 

"  I'm  going  to  one  or  two  shops  in  Bond 
Street,  dear,  to  see  some  new  costumes,  and  I 
shall  lunch  at  the  club.  You  won't  be  lonely 
until  I  come  back  ?  " 

She  kissed  the  old  lady  with  an  affectionate 
manner  that  seemed  to  Gilbert's  eyes  to  take 
away  immediately  every  suspicion  of  the  ridicu- 
lous that  had  been  present. 

In  Old  Bond  Street  the  two  said  good-by. 


158 


"Don't  forget  me,  Gilbert,"  said  the  young 
lady. 

"I  never,  never  shall,"  said  the  young  gentle- 
man fervently. 

At  the  Piccadilly  end  of  Old  Bond  Street,  Gil- 
bert, walking  along  in  his  youthful,  impetuous 
manner,  avoided  only  by  dexterity  a  collision 
with  the  Proprietor  of  the  Hudget.  The  Pro- 
prietor was  beautifully  dressed,  as  became  a  man 
of  money;  his  necktie  alone  was  a  liberal  educa- 
tion to  the  young.  He  was  looking  into  the 
window  of  an  expensive  shop,  apparently  with  a 
view  of  seeing  whether  he  could  find  a  new 
outlet  for  his  money. 

"  You're  looking  extremely  well,  sir." 

The  Proprietor  had  been  fearing  that  morning 
that  he  was  looking  out  of  sorts,  and  Gilbert 
could  not  have  made  a  more  diplomatic  remark. 
There  are  some  who  delight  to  extol  their  com- 
plaints and  make  much  of  them:  these  are 
jealous  of  the  introduction  of  any  other  topic, 
and  do  not  greatly  care  to  talk  of  the  House  of 
Lords,  excepting  as  an  opening  to  their  favorite 
subject.  The  Proprietor  belonged  to  the  class 
who  affect  never  to  be  in  any  thing  but  the  rudest 
health. 


159 


"Never  better,  my  boy,"  he  said,  "ne-ver 
better.  But  you — you  are  not  looking  quite  up 
to  the  mark.  Why  not  take  a  holiday  ?  A 
short  one,  eh  ? " 

"Bradley  Webbe  is  away  for  a  few  days." 

"  Well,  wnen  he  comes  back,  you  go.  And,  by 
the  bye,  speaking  of  Bradley  Webbe  reminds  me. 
I  want  to  talk  to  you  about  him.  He's  a  very 
good  chap,  and  does  the  work  well  and  turns  out 

a  very  good  paper,  I  admit,  but Have  you 

lunched  ? " 

Gilbert  had  not  lunched.  The  Proprietor 
took  Gilbert's  arm,  and  they  walked  together 
across  Piccadilly  to  St.  James's  Street.  As  Gil- 
bert ascended  the  steps  of  the  Proprietor's 
club  his  feet  were  inclined  to  dance  with  sat- 
isfaction. 

"They  give  you  a  devilish  poor  lunch  here," 
said  the  Proprietor  apologetically;  "but  perhaps 
you  won't  mind  making  shift  with  it  just  for  once 
in  a  way.  I  have  to  complain  of  one  or  two 
things  in  this Waiter  !  " 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Why  isn't  that  window  open  over  there? 
How  many  times  have  I " 

"Beg  pardon,  sir;  it  is  open." 


i6o 


"Well,  then,"  said  the  Proprietor,  unappeased, 
"go  and  shut  it  at  once." 

"Certainly,  sir." 

"A  more  woollen-headed  set  of  men  than 
these  club  waiters  I  never  saw;  they've  got  no 
more  sense  than " 

Gilbert  suggested  with  respect  that  perhaps 
they  had  to  deal  with  some  rather  trying  people. 

"I'd  like  to  try  them,"  said  the  Proprietor 
humorously.  "I'd  give  them  six  months'  hard 
labor." 

The  sub-editor  of  the  Budget  laughed  very 
much  at  this  remark,  and  the  Proprietor's  ami- 
ability increased.  The  bottle  of  Chablis  with 
the  fish,  the  magnum  of  Perrier  Joue't  with  the 
entries,  the  liqueur  at  the  end — all  helped  to 
increase  the  cordiality  of  his  manner.  The  Pro- 
prietor was  a  man  of  sudden  and  intense  friend- 
ships. 

"No,  no,  no,  waiter!  These  are  not  the  cigars 
I  want.  You  know  that  very  well." 

"  Do  you  want  those  at  one  and  six  each, 
sir?" 

"  Good  God,  man!  /don't  care  what  they  cost. 
Don't  bother  me  with  your  confounded  figures." 
The  Proprietor  glanced  round  at  Gilbert  for  a 


look  of  approval.     "Bring  what  I've  asked  for 
at  once,  and  don't  waste  my  valuable  time." 

The  worried  waiter  brought  a  small  pile  of 
boxes,  and  the  Proprietor  with  immense  circum- 
spection made  his  choice. 

"Give  this  gentleman  a  light,  waiter;  can't 
you  see  he  wants  one?" 

Gilbert  sat  well  back  in  the  exceedingly  easy 
leathern  chair  placed  in  the  bow  window.  He 
stretched  out  his  long  legs  and  gazed  down  into 
St.  James's  Street  with  kindly  tolerance.  Really 
it  was,  with  all  its  faults,  a  very  agreeable  world. 
Very  agreeable  indeed. 

"When  does  Bradley  Webbe  come  back,  Mr. 
Gilbert?" 

"  At  the  end  of  the  week,  sir." 

"Oh!" 

The  Proprietor  sent  a  ring  of  smoke  up  in 
the  direction  of  the  oak  ceiling. 

"What  do  you  get  now,  Mr.  Gilbert?" 

Gilbert  named  the  sum. 

"Three  hundred,  eh?  You're  worth  more 
than  that,  you  know." 

The  youth   flushed    and   said,    laughing  ner- 
vously, that  it  was  impossible  for  him  to  con- 
trovert the  statement, 
it 


"You're  a  very  young  man,  certainly,  for  an 
editorship,  but  this  is  an  age  of  renowned  young 
men.  Do  you  think  you  could  edit  a  journal  ? " 

There  is  no  adult  man  in  England  at  the  pres- 
ent moment  of  writing — not  one  man — who 
would  answer  this  question  in  the  negative. 
Gilbert,  for  his  part,  said  with  much  readiness 
that  he  would  like  a  chance  of  trying. 

"  At  six  hundred  a  year  ?  " 

"The  charge  of  the  Six  Hundred,"  said  the 
delighted  Gilbert,  "  is  a  capital  selection.  But 
what  paper  could  I  go  for  ?  There  is  no  vacancy, 
is  there  ? " 

"We'll  make  a  vacancy." 

"On  what  paper,  sir." 

"Why,  on  my  paper.  On  my  paper.  On  the 
Budget. " 

"And  get  rid  of  Bradley  Webbe  ?"  gasped 
the  sub-editor. 

"  Certainly — certainly  !     Why  not  ?  " 

"Well,  but,"  stammered  Gilbert,  "why  should 
you?  He  does  the  work  very  well." 

"  I  have  no  fault  to  find  with  the  way  in  which 
he  does  his  work,  but — well,  I've  taken  a  dislike 
to  red-headed  men,  and  Bradley  Webbe  is  red- 
haired." 


"  Still,"  urged  Gilbert,  "  even  a  man  with  blue 
hair  might  make  a  good  editor,  if,  in  other  re- 
spects, he " 

"Look  here,  Mr.  Gilbert.  We  don't  want  to 
take  up  too  much  time  over  this  matter.  I'll 
tell  you  plainly  what  I  want  you  to  do.  I'm  a 
great  man  for  having  every  thing  done  in  a 
strictly  business-like  way,  and  I'll  tell  you  exactly 
what  my  proposal  is.  I  want  you  to  write  a 
letter  to  me,  offering  certain  suggestions  for  the 
improvement  of  the  paper." 

"Right!" 

"Then  I  want  you  to  go  on  to  say  that  there 
are  one  or  two  weak  points  in  the  present  editing 
— lay  stress  on  this,  mind — and  finally,  say  that 
if  I  decide  to  make  any  change  may  you  offer 
yourself  for  the  position." 

The  Proprietor  waited. 

"You  see,"  said  Gilbert  slowly,  "Bradley 
Webbe  is  a  friend  of  mine.  It  looks  rather  like 
a  mean  attempt  to  oust  him " 

"Mr.  Gilbert!  I'm  a  slightly  older  man  than 
you.  Slightly  older,  I  say.  And  I  can  tell  you 
that,  if  you're  going  to  be  so  confoundedly  punc- 
tilious in  matters  of  business,  you'll  pass  the  last 
days  of  your  life  in  the  Scotch  whiskey  bar  in 


1 64 


Milford  Lane.  You're  an  ambitious  young  man, 
and  I  want  to  help  you.  If  you  decline  to  let 
me  assist  you  up  one  or  two  rungs  of  the  ladder 
of  Fame,  why" — the  Proprietor  gave  a  gesture 
of  despair — "  it's  of  no  use  my  troubling." 
"  Can  I  have  a  day  to  think  it  over,  sir  ?" 
"  No  !  "  Curtly  and  with  much  decision. 
Gilbert  rose  from  his  chair  and  looked  for  a 
moment  down  at  the  street.  Correctly-habited 
men  were  strolling  along  ;  an  open  carriage  with 
two  Princesses  drove  down  the  middle  of  the 
street,  and  the  shining  silk  hats  went  off.  A 
man  in  a  dust-coat  stepped  into  a  hansom  and 
told  the  man  to  drive  to  the  Horse  Guards.  It 
was  all  so  much  more  opulent  and  attractive  than 
Doughty  Street,  Bloomsbury. 

"I  agree,"  said  Gilbert  without  looking  round. 
"Good!"    exclaimed  the    Proprietor.      "Let 
me  have  the  letter  to-day." 
"You  shall  have  it  to-day." 
"And  make  it  hot  for  Bradley  Webbe." 
"I'll  make  it — make  it  hot  for  Bradley  Webbe." 
"Spoken   like    a   sensible   man    of    business! 
Which   way  are   you   going  ? " 

"I  am  going  to  the  Budget  office  first,  to  do 
some  work " 


165 


"And  write  the  letter?" 

"  Ye-es.  And  write  the  letter.  And  then  I 
have  to  go  to  the  City  to  attend  a  Company 
meeting." 

"Shareholder?" 

"  Director,"  said  Gilbert  proudly.  "  A  friend 
of  mine,  Captain  Dann,  introduced  me  to  the 
affair.  I  am  to  get  two  guineas  for  every  meet- 
ing, and  I  think  the  affair  is  likely  to  run  through 
pretty  well." 

"Glad  to  hear  you  are  making  money.  You'll 
find  it  a  great  assistance  to  you.  And  in  regard 
to  the  Budget,  Mr.  Gilbert,  rely  upon  me.  /'// 
see  you're  safe  there.  You  and  I  together  will 
do  big  things." 

"I  hope  so,"  said  Gilbert  soberly. 

The  prospective  editor  had  written  the  com- 
munication at  the  Budget  office  (it  was  a  task,  to 
do  him  justice,  of  some  difficulty),  and  had 
despatched  it,  when  Barling,  with  a  look  of 
unusual  moodiness,  brought  a  post  letter  which 
had  been  placed  in  the  wrong  letter-box.  Gil- 
bert, desperately  anxious  to  force  himself  into 
light-heartedness,  asked  Master  Barling  concern- 
ing the  lady  of  Master  Barling's  heart. 

"Oh,    she's    'imiable    enough,"    said    Barling 


166 


gloomily,  "just  for  the  present.  'Ow  long  it  '11 
last,  'Eaven  only  knows.  /  don't.  It's  my 
belief  that  some  people  ain't  'appy  unless  they're 
a-breaking  of  honest  'earts." 

"Still,"  urged  Gilbert,  "you're  on  good  terms 
now." 

"That's  nothing  to  go  by,  sir,"  said  Master 
Barling, — the  small  boy  spoke  as  one  who  has 
drunk  deeply  from  the  cup  of  bitter  experience, 
— '''that's  nothing  to  go  by.  I've  never  been 
particular  'appy  in  my  life  without  directly  after 
something  'appening  to  give  me  the  'ump." 

"That's  not  an  encouraging  experience, 
Barling." 

"And  then  she  wonders  that  I  ain't  bright  and 
cheerful  and  light-'earted  !  I'll  defy  any  body  to 
be  reely  bright  and  cheerful  and  light-'earted  in 
this  world.  Some  of  'em  may  pretend  to  be  ; 
but  it's  only  a  'ollow  marsk  that  they  wear. 
You  take  it  from  me,  sir ! " 

"I  can't  help  thinking,  Barling,  that  you 
adopt  a  somewhat  pessimistic  view  of  things. 
You  must  buy  a  pair  of  rose-colored  spectacles." 

Master  Barling  rubbed  his  chin  with  his  grimy 
hand,  and  gave  it  a  hue  of  blackness. 

"I   don't  want   no   spectacles,  sir,"  he  said. 


i67 


"I  see  too  much  of  the  world  as  it  is.  You 
cawn't  trust  any  body.  A  chap  calls  'imself  your 
friend,  and  'e's  jest  the  one  to  go  and  take  the 
very  bread  out " 

"  It's  the  way  of  the  world,  Barling — the  way 
of  the  world." 

"  It's  'ightime,  sir,  then,  that  it  learned  better. 
Any  thing  else,  sir  ?  " 

"Nothing  else,  Barling." 

The  letter  was  from  Bradley  Webbe.  Gilbert 
opened  it  with  a  sensation  of  hesitancy  and  re- 
luctance that  he  had  not,  in  his  new  life,  hitherto 
experienced. 

"Mv  DEAR  GILBERT: 

"Things  have  turned  out  badly  here,  and  I 
might  well  have  saved  myself  the  trouble  of  com- 
ing down.  For  a  reason  that  you,  dear  chap, 
will  understand,  I  am  bitterly  disappointed. 

"  Fortunately,  the  excellent  Budget  is  faithful. 
On  the  strength  of  that  I  shall  try  my  luck  as 
soon  as  I  return.  I  have  thought  of  her  con- 
tinuously. If  I  am  successful,  I  shall  owe  much 
of  my  happiness  to  you,  and  I  shall  never  forget 
your  kindness.  It  is  every  thing  to  possess  a 
good  friend. 


i68 


"I  shall  be  in  the  Strand  on  Saturday  to  take 
up  work  again.     If  you  think  of  going  away,  you 
might  be  prepared  to  start  in  the  following  week. 
"  My  sincerest  regards. 

"  Affectionately  yours, 

"F.  BRADLEY  WEBBE." 


CHAPTER  X 

QUEEN  VICTORIA  STREET,  City,  on  a  bright 
summer  afternoon,  offers  every  attraction  but 
shade.  Queen  Victoria  Street  commences  near 
to  the  river-side,  at  a  point  where  folk  hurry  to- 
ward the  stone  steps  of  Blackfriars  Bridge,  to  take 
boat  to  Chelsea,  and  thence — for  love  of  a  roving 
life  is  a  thing  that  grows  on  one — thence  to  Kew. 
Queen  Victoria  Street  is  not  one  of  those  streets 
which  are  unable  to  make  up  their  minds  as  to  the 
direction  they  shall  take.  It  aims  ambitiously 
at  the  Mansion  House;  and  the  directness  and 
persistency  with  which  it  makes  for  that  goal  is  a 
standing  lesson  to  embryo  Lord  Mayors  for  all 
time.  It  is  a  busy  street,  too,  much  occupied 
with  a  variety  of  occupations;  from  huge  iron 
machines,  revolving  ceaselessly  for  no  apparent 
motive,  to  the  College  of  Heralds,  where  the 
newest  knight  gets  the  oldest  ancestry  that  his 
wife  desires;  from  American  typewriters  to  gor- 
geous outfitters  where  one  may  buy  neckties 
that  shall  amaze  suburbs  and  force  them  into 
admiration. 


170 


"Ah,  Mr.  Gilbert!"  Captain  Dann  patted 
Gilbert's  shoulders  with  both  hands  as  he  greeted 
him.  It  was  a  habit  that  some  of  Captain  Dann's 
acquaintances  did  not  care  for.  "  That's  right. 
Nothing  like  being  up  to  time.  It's  an  old  say- 
ing of  mine,  you  know,  that  time,  to  a  certain 
extent,  is — er — money.  That's  the  way  I  put  it, 
and  by  gad,  sir"  (frankly),  "there's  something 
in  it." 

"How  long  will  the  meeting  last?" 

"Well."  Captain  Dann  whistled  on  the  edge 
of  his  pince-nez.  The  pince-nez  was  a  new  adorn- 
ment with  the  effusive  gentleman,  and  with  it 
had  come  a  white  hat  and  a  tendency  to  frown. 
Generally,  he  seemed  to  wear  a  garment  of  pros- 
perity that  he  had  not  hitherto  put  on.  "Well, 
I  should  say  an  hour  would  cover  it.  I  must 
introduce  you  to  the  other  directors.  And  I 
say  ! " 

Gilbert  waited. 

"  I  got  them  to  elect  you  on  the  board,  old 
chap,  because  I  told  them  that  you  not  only  had 
a  little  money  yourself,  but  you  knew  people 
who  had  a  lot." 

"I  only  know " 

"'And,  moreover,  I  told  them  that  you  had  an 


immense  influence  over  the  press  of  this  country. 
That  was  what  really  fetched  them." 

"But  I  don't  know  that  I  could  use  the  Budget 
in  that  way,  Dann.  You  see  it's  a  particular 
journal." 

"  It's  just  the  particular  journals  that  we 
want.  You  needn't  puff  the  Company  in  a 
brazen-faced  manner.  All  you  have  to  do  is  to 
mention  casually,  at  the  proper  time,  that  this 
looks  like  a  big  thing;  that  men  with  heads  on 
their  shoulders  are  managing  it,  and  that  the 
shares  will  shortly  go  up  by  leaps  and  bounds, 
and " 

"But  will  they?" 

Captain  Dann  whispered  behind  his  large,  fat, 
beringed  hand. 

"They  will,  my  boy,  if  you  say  so.  Besides, 
there's  some  news  in  store." 

He  pawed  Gilbert  again  on  the  shoulder  and 
took  his  arm. 

"  Got  a  cigar  ?  "  he  asked,  as  they  were  going 
up  the  lift. 

"  Yes.     Do  you  want  to  smoke? " 

"No,"  said  Dann.  "But  just  light  one,  and 
then,  when  you  go  in  the  room,  throw  it  carelessly 
into  the  fire-place.  It  will  have  a  good  effect." 


172 


"  Pity  to  waste  it,  surely,"  said  Gilbert,  as  he 
lighted  a  Manilla. 

"  It  won't  be  wasted,  my  boy.  Little  actions 
like  these  tell  strangers  what  a  man  is  really  like. 
There's  nothing  in  this  world  like  making  a  good 

first  impression.     I've  known  people Here 

we  are.     I  dare  say  some  of  the  directors  have 
already  arrived." 

The  smaller  office  of  the  Hip  Hip  Hurrah 
Mining  Co.  was  a  room  with  a  green,  baize- 
covered  table  in  the  centre  and  a  sufficient 
number  of  chairs;  on  the  walls  maps  of  South, 
Africa,  colored  red  and  blue,  with  a  large  cross 
in  one  place.  On  the  table  lay  sheets  of  white 
foolscap,  and  sheets  of  virgin  blotting  paper, 
and  new  pens  and  shining  inkstands;  all  offer- 
ing facilities  to  directors  anxious  to  earn  their 
fees  by  taking  voluminous  notes.  A  large, 
round,  padded  chair  for  the  Chairman,  at  the 
head  of  the  table;  at  the  other  end  sat  Mr. 
Matcham,  with  (seemingly)  rather  less  chin  than 
usual;  his  small  eyes  intent  on  a  financial  news- 
paper. Two  or  three  men  were  talking  in  a 
corner. 

"Matcham!"  cried  Captain  Dann,  as  he 
brought  Gilbert  forward,  "here's  my  old  true, 


173 

tried,  and  trusted  friend,  Mr.  Gilbert.  You  re- 
member meeting  a  week  or  two  since,  you  two? 
I  think  I  told  you,  Mr.  Gilbert,  that  Matcham  had 
been  appointed  secretary  of  this  company?" 

"It's  a  devil  of  a  tie,"  complained  Mr. 
Matcham.  "  I'm  here  till  half-past  four  and 
five  o'clock  sometimes." 

"In  the  morning?"  asked  Gilbert  sympatheti- 
cally. 

"Oh,  no;  in  the  evening.  But  the  continual 
grind  tells  on  one,  don't  you  know.  I'm  not 
used  to  it." 

"You  soon  will  be,"  exclaimed  Captain  Dann; 
"you'll  soon  settle  down." 

"Yes.  I  know,"  said  Matcham  despondently, 
"in  my  grave.  I've  heard  of  people  working 
themselves  to  death  before  now,  and  I'm  begin- 
ning to  think " 

"Let  me  make  you  known  to  some  of  your 
co-directors,  Gilbert.  Come  along." 

Mr.  Blenkinsop.  Mr.  Percy  Blenkinsop  was 
nephew  of  the  Chairman  (explained  Captain 
Dann),  Jasper  Blenkinsop,  M.  P.  Good  family 
(whispered  Captain  Dann),  devilish  good  family, 
but  deucedly  hard  up.  Deucedly  hard  up,  to  be 
sure. 


174 


"How  do?"  said  Mr.  Percy  Blenkinsop 
languidly.  "  Strornary  weather — time — year. 
What  ? " 

Commander  Harvey.  Commander  Harvey, 
bluff  naval  man  with  carefully  trimmed  black 
side-whiskers,  hands  ever  in  trousers  pockets, 
and  a  suggestion  of  a  lurch  in  his  walk,  as  of  one 
still  at  sea.  Commander  Harvey  withdrew  one 
hand  from  his  trousers  pocket  and  smacked  with 
it  the  hand  offered  by  Gilbert,  much  in  the  way 
affected  by  emotional  leading  men  in  stirring 
melodrama. 

And  the  Hon.  George  Beauclerc.  The  Hon. 
George,  a  little  perturbed  by  the  arrival  of 
Gilbert,  inasmuch  as  he  was  thus  interrupted  in 
a  humorous  story  at  the  very  moment  where  the 
laugh  should  have  come.  The  Hon.  George 
prided  himself  on  being  a  raconteur;  he  knew 
seven  anecdotes,  and  they  all  had  a  strong 
feminine  interest. 

"Absolutely,"  whispered  Captain  Dann  au- 
dibly— "abso — lutely  the  most  amusing  dog  that 
ever  came  into  the  City." 

"Oh,  hang  it,  Dann!"  protested  the  Hon. 
George. 

"Come,  now,"  demanded  Dann  boisterously, 


175 


"confess  it.  Confess  it.  Is  it  a  fact  or  is  it  not  a 
fact,  that  you,  my  dear  sir,  have  a  joke  ready  for 
every  possible  occasion  ?  Have  you  ever  found 
yourself  nonplussed  ?  Eh  ?  Have  you  ever  found 
yourself  at  a  loss  for  a  humorous  remark  ? 
Eh?" 

"Well,"  agreed  the  Hon.  George  frankly,  "I 
must  say  I'm  about  as  fly  as  the  rest  of  them. 
Talking  about  being  fly,  though,  reminds  me  of  a 
girl  at  the  Gaiety,  and  she " 

"The  Chairman  !  " 

The  Chairman:  a  little  late,  but  only  because  to 
be  late  was  a  busy,  important,  conspicuous  thing 
to  do.  Mr.  Jasper  Blenkinsop  bowed  to  Gilbert, 
sank  into  the  chair,  and  looked  round  the  table 
with  the  wearied,  patronizing  look  of  a  statesman 
who  is  giving  up  his  life  to  the  service  of  his 
country.  Captain  Dann,  seated  by  his  side, 
whispered  the  word,  "  Minutes." 

"The  Secretary,"  said  the  Chairman  sonor- 
ously— "the  Secretary  will  be  so  good  as  to  read 
the  minutes  of  the  last  meeting." 

Mr.  Matcham,  screwing  up  his  small  eyes,  read 
hurriedly  the  minutes  of  the  last  meeting. 

"  Those  who  are  in  favor  of  the  minutes  being 
signed  as  correct  will  signify " 


1 76 


"I  don't  wish  to  delay  this  meeting,"  inter- 
rupted the  burly  naval  gentleman,  ''but  we  want 
everything  straight  and  above-board.  Those 
minutes  say  that  Mr.  Percy  Blenkinsop  moved 
that  a  further  call  of  five  shillings  per  share  be 
made.  Now  I  want  to  point  out  to  you,  because, 
as  a  naval  man,  I  believe  in  having  the  thing  done 
correctly,  that  /  moved  that  resolution.  /  did  it. 
/  spoke  to  it.  /  was  asked  to  move  it,  and  / 
moved  it." 

Commander  Harvey,  very  red,  leaned  back 
and  tapped  the  table  nervously  with  his  fingers, 
as  one  who  has  felt  it  necessary  to  clear  his 
character  from  lasting  dishonor. 

"What's  the  use  of  talking  like  that  ?"  asked 
Mr.  Matcham  from  the  end  of  the  table.  "Here 
it  is,  down  in  black  and  white,  and  how " 

Captain  Dann  had  whispered  again  to  the 
Chair. 

"You  will  make  the  necessary  correction,  Mr. 
Secretary,"  said  the  Chair  severely. 

It  was  the  Speaker's  style  of  sitting  on  recal- 
citrant members  in  the  House  of  Commons,  and 
Mr.  Jasper  Blenkinsop  flattered  himself  that  it 
was  not  a  bad  imitation.  In  fact,  if  any  thing 
were  to  happen  to  the  Speaker,  it  was  obvious,  in 


177 


Mr.  Blenkinsop's  opinion,  that  no  one  was  so  well 
qualified  to  take  the  place  as  himself. 

"  You  will  excuse  me  reminding  you,  sir," 
whispered  Captain  Dann  respectfully. 

"Certainly,  Dann;  certainly.  I've  got  a  mar- 
vellous memory,"  said  the  Chair,  "but  now 
and  again  it  wants  jogging.  It's  the  constant 
wear  and  tear  in  the  House  that  takes  it  out 
of  a  man." 

The  Chairman  rose,  a  sign  that  he  was  about 
to  address  the  directors  on  a  subject  of  im- 
portance. 

"  Mr.  Speaker,  sir,  in  asking  the  House — I  beg 
pardon,  I  beg  pardon.  Gentlemen,  excuse  the 
slight  slip  of  the  tongue.  I  have  to  speak  to 
you  on  rather  an  important  question.  Mr. 
Matcham,  is  the  door  closed  ?  " 

Mr.  Matcham — with  a  sigh  intended  to  convey 
a  remonstrance  against  the  laborious  nature  of 
the  new  undertaking  which  he  was  requested  to 
engage  upon — went  over  to  the  door  ;  opened  it 
and  closed  it  carefully. 

"  I  hope,  gentlemen,  you  will  take  careful  note 
of  what  I  am  about  to  say.  It  appears  that  a 
cablegram  will  shortly  reach  this  country " 

"Hear,  hear !"  approvingly  from  Captain  Dann. 

12 


"  Which  will  give — shall  I  say  an  encouraging 
account — yes,  a  most  encouraging  account  of  the 
Hip  Hip  Hurrah  Mines.  You  are  aware  that 
these  mines  have  not  for  some  time  past  held  a 
favorable  position  in  the  estimation  of  the  public. 
The  one-pound  shares,  now  fully  paid  up,  are 
quoted  at  an  absurdly  low  figure." 

"  Hear,  hear  !  "  regretfully  from  Captain  Dann. 

"Gentlemen,  it  is  not  we  who  are  responsible 
for  much  of  this.  When  the  old  directorate 
resigned  we  took  the  helm  of  the  ship  and  led 
it  forward — if  you  will  excuse  the  metaphor — 
across  the  field  of  battle,  strewn  with  bodies  of 
like  companies,  in  the  hope  of  finding  the 
promised  land.  Like  the  Egyptians  of  old " 

"Hear,  hear!"  reverentially  from  Captain 
Dann. 

"  Like  the  Egyptians  of  old — like  the  Egyp- 
tians of  old,  we " 

The  recollection  of  the  Chair  did  not  appear 
to  be  able  to  take  him  into  the  details  of  that 
remote  period. 

"At  any  rate,  it  is  time  we  made  something 
out  of  this  concern.  We  came  in  cheap,  gentle- 
men, we  shall  go  out  dear.  The  spoils  to  the 
victor." 


179 


"Good!"  cried  Captain  Dann  enthusiastically. 
"  Spoils  to  the  victor!  Good  !  " 

"This  cablegram  will  be  communicated  to  the 
newspapers  on  Tuesday  morning  next.  To-day 
is  Thursday.  My  advice  to  you  all  is,  then,  to 
buy  carefully  any  Hip  Hip  Hurrah  shares  that 
you  can.  On  Tuesday  and  Wednesday  next  I 
venture  to  think  that  you  will  be  able  to  dispose 
of  them  at  excellent  prices." 

"Excuse  me,"  said  Gilbert,  "but  how  do  we 
know  that  the  cable  will  arrive  ?  " 

The  Chair  rose  excitedly.  "I  am  not, 
gentlemen,  in  the  habit  of  finding  my  word 
doubted " 

"I  am  not  doubting  your  word,"  persisted 
Gilbert  hotly.  "  You  have  not  yet  given  it." 

The  Chair  looked  despairingly  at  Captain 
Dann,  as  who  should  say,  "This  is  what  comes 
of  letting  in  outsiders." 

"Seems  me,"  said  Mr.  Percy  Blenkinsop,  with 
much  effort,  "  seems  me — something  in  what 
Mr.  I-forget-his-darn-name — er  says." 

"  If  we  know  that  a  good  find  has  been  made, 
then,  I  think,"  went  on  the  new  director,  flushing, 
"  that  we  ought  to  make  the  news  known  to  the 
shareholders.  If  we  don't  know  that  a  good  find 


i8o 


has  been  made,  how  can  we  be  sure  that  we  shall 
know  on  Tuesday  next  ?" 

Gilbert  had  not  stated  his  argument  quite  so 
clearly  as  he  could  have  wished,  but  he  hoped  he 
had  made  it  sufficiently  obvious. 

"I  don't  want  to  make  any  trouble,"  went  on 
Gilbert,  with  less  heat,  "but  at  the  same  time  I 
don't  want  to  get  into  any  trouble.  At  present 
it  looks  as  though " 

"Allow  me,"  interrupted  Captain  Dann. 
"Perhaps  a  few  words  from  me  will  clear  the  air. 
A  stitch  in  time,  as  I  often  say,  saves  as  many  as 
nine,  and  if  I  tell  my  dear  friend  Mr.  Gilbert 
that  I  stake  my  reputation  on  the  arrival  of  this 
cablegram  before  Tuesday  morning  next;  that 
I'll  forfeit  my  head — my  head,  sir,  on  the  block, 
if  it  does  not  arrive;  why,  then  I  feel  sure  that 
he  will  agree  with  every  word  that  you,  sir,  have 
said.  I  may  remind  my  young  friend  Mr.  Gil- 
bert— one  of  the  best  and  brightest  and  cleverest 
journalists  of  the  day,  gentlemen,  and  one  for 
whose  name  on  the  scroll  of  Fame  a  bright  space 
is  waiting — I  may  remind  him  that  on  a  former 
occasion  he  omitted  to  take  my  advice " 

"I  agree,"  said  Gilbert,  abashed. 

"My  idea  is,"  said  the  Hon.  George,   "that 


our  motto's  this:  Keep  your  eye  on  Cap'n  Dann 
and  he  will  pull  you  through." 

General  agreement.  Commander  Harvey  half 
inclined  to  take  his  hands  out  of  his  trousers 
pockets  and  hail  the  Chairman,  but  not  seeing 
exactly  what  he  should  say,  determining  after 
consideration  not  to  do  so. 

"Gentlemen,  you  honor  me."  Captain  Dann 
flourished  his  red  silk  handkerchief  and  dabbed 
his  eyes  with  it.  "You  honor  me.  I  am  proud 
of  your  confidence — I  say  it  frankly.  I  am  not 
one  of  those  who  are  ashamed  to  acknowledge 
that  they  are  trusted  by  honest  men.  Give  me 
(as  I  have  said  on  more  occasions  than  one)  give 
me  the  man  of  an — er — honest  heart.  Gentle- 
men, thank  you." 

There  was  some  further  business,  but  Gilbert 
sat  back  rather  sulkily  and  did  not  trouble  to 
listen.  Instead,  he  thought  of  Kittie,  and  he 
thought  of  the  Budget,  and  he  thought  of  many 
things  that  had  no  reference  to  the  Hip  Hip 
Hurrah  Mining  Company. 

"  Then  you  agree,  gentlemen,"  said  the  Chair- 
man, "to  take  this  important  step.  It  seems 
to  be  the  only  thing  we  can  do,  and  our  friend, 
Captain  Dann,  says  that  we  are  safe  in  doing  it." 


182 


"The  law  can't  touch  us,"  said  Captain  Dann. 

Still  more  business,  engineered  mainly  by  the 
excellent  Dann,  and  Gilbert's  admiration  for  that 
gentleman  increased  as  he  noted  the  tact  with 
which  he  managed  every  one  around  the  table. 
When  the  Hon.  George  Beauclerc  interrupted 
with  a  devilish  good  story  that  a  Stock  Exchange 
man  had  told  him,  it  was  Dann  who  sidled  round 
to  the  Hon.  George  and  listened  attentively,  and 
prevented  the  recital  from  delaying  business. 
When  Mr.  Percy  Blenkinsop  could  not  find  his 
eye-glass,  it  was  Dann  who  scribbled  a  line,  "  It  is 
on  your  back,"  and  passed  it  along  to  the  dis- 
tressed youth.  When  a  question  arose  of  the 
time  a  steamer  would  take  from  Cape  Town  to 
Southampton,  and  Commander  Harvey  grunted 
and  growled  at  the  clumsy  guesses  of  the  land- 
lubbers, it  was  Dann  who  said,  "  Gentlemen, 
pardon  me  for  interrupting,  but  we  are  favored 
with  the  presence  of  a  colleague  whose  knowl- 
edge of  the  ocean  is  limited  only  by  the  bounds 
placed  on  it  by  the  possessions  of  our  great  coun- 
try. Will  that  gentleman — need  I  say  that  I  re- 
fer to  Commander  Harvey — will  he  decide  this 
question  for  us?"  And  his  deference  to  the 
Chair,  and  the  way  in  which,  while  apparently 


183 


conceding  to  that  difficult  gentleman,  he  always 
managed  to  make  the  Chair  do  exactly  what  he 
wanted  the  Chair  to  do,  was  in  itself  a  generous 
education. 

"Gentlemen,"  said  the  Chair,  "a  most  satis- 
factory meeting!  Most  satisfactory!  I  prom- 
ised the  Whips  that  I  would  be  back  in  the  House 
by  five-thirty;  where  my  vote  is  required  on  a 
subject  to  which  I  will  not,  with  your  permission, 
further  allude." 

Cheers  from  Captain  Dann,  indicative  of  com- 
mendation of  the  politician's  diplomatic  attitude 
of  reserve. 

"Thanks  to  the  attention  which  you  have 
given  to  the  business  of  the  Hip  Hip  Hurrah 
Company  "  (the  Chair  glanced  at  his  nephew's 
blotting-pad,  whereon  that  languid  youth  had  de- 
picted an  extremely  plump  young  lady  in  tights), 
"  I  have  been  able  to  stay  to  the  finish.  May  I 
say  that  just  as  our  motto  is  'aspire,'  so  should 
we  hope  that  now  the  clouds  are  rolling  away 
from  this  undertaking  to  which  we  have  the 
honor  to  belong;  that  the  clouds  will  be  washed 
away  by  the — the  sudden  wave  of  prosperity " 

"Capital  !  "  murmured  Captain  Dann.  "  Wave 
of  prosperity.  Capital  !  capital !  " 


1 84 


"  Wave  of  prosperity  which  I  see  in  my  mind's 
eye,  no  bigger,  perhaps,  than  a  man's  hand,  but 
destined,  as  I  hope,  to  grow,  to  accumulate,  to 
increase,  to  enlargen — if  I  may  use  the  word — 
until  the  bright  sun  of  joy  once  again  rains  down 
upon  us  its  generous  gifts." 

The  Chair  put  on  his  hat  and  found  his  stick, 
and  seemed  half  inclined  to  weep.  There  were, 
indeed,  tears  in  his  eyes  as  he  waved  good-by, 
and,  with  the  haste  of  a  man  who  feels  that  the 
political  world  is  waiting  impatiently  for  him, 
hurried  away. 

In  the  outer  office  Gilbert  waited  a  few  mo- 
ments. Four  or  five  clerks  were  doing  a  little 
work,  and  doing  it  with  much  assiduity.  They 
all  frowned  at  their  books  and  at  their  correspond- 
ence, and  they  bit  their  lips  as  though  the  con- 
centration of  intellect  were  doing  them  a  serious 
injury.  In  the  corner  a  telephone  with  a  junior 
clerk  speaking  at  it.  Gilbert  looked  at  the  tele- 
phone and  smiled.  It  reminded  him  of  an  inci- 
dent in  Cheyne  Gardens  only  a  few  weeks  since, — 
it  seemed  like  several  years, — and  he  wondered 
what  these  people  would  say  if  he  were  to  tell 
them  the  facts.  He  felt  that  it  would  be  useless 
to  do  this,  even  if  he  were  so  inclined.  In  his 


ca.se  nothing  would  sound  quite  so  untrue  as  the 
truth. 

"Oh,  and  I  say,  Miss " 

The  junior  clerk  was  unaware  of  the  presence 
of  a  director,  and  was  giving  a  little  exhibition  of 
mannishness  for  the  benefit  of  the  other  clerks. 
He  was  a  small,  brush-haired  boy,  and  he  had  to 
stand  on  tiptoe  to  speak. 

"And  I  say,  Miss,  what  are  you  doing  next 
Sunday,  eh  ?  You  don't  know  ?  Well,  what  do 
you  say  to  Kew  ?  You  say  cno  fear,' do  you? 
All  right  then,  don't!  I  dare  say  there's  plenty 
of  other  girls " 

A  cough  from  one  of  the  seniors  caused  the 
junior  to  look  round,  and  he  stopped  at  once. 

"That   telephone    is    on   the   Central,  I    sup- 
pose ? "  asked  Gilbert. 
.  "Yes,  sir." 

"So  that  you  can  communicate  to  almost  any- 
where?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

Gilbert  stood  looking  at  the  instrument,  and 
the  senior  clerk  waited  respectfully. 

"Wonderfully  ingenious  invention,  sir," 
remarked  the  senior  clerk.  "Quite  in  its 
infancy,  too,  they  tell  me." 


i86 


"I  suppose  so,"  said  Gilbert  absently. 

"If  you  had  told  people  thirty  years  ago  that 
the  time  would  come  when  they  could  speak  to 
each  other  from  London  to  Paris,  why,  they 
would  have  stared  like  any  thing." 

"That  would  have  been  the  least  they  could 
do." 

"Quite  so,  sir.  And  of  course  they've  be- 
come a  great  convenience;  I  don't  know  what 
we  should  do  without  them  now;  do  you,  sir  ? " 

"No,"  said  Gilbert,  "  I  don't." 

Captain  Dann's  hand  fell  upon  his  shoulder. 

"One  moment,"  said  Captain  Dann.  "Just 
step  this  way,  Mr.  Gilbert."  They  walked  to 
the  corridor.  "  Be  very  caref ul  not  to  let  that 
little  matter  of  the  coming  telegram  slip  out. 
What  passes  in  a  Board  Room  is  of  course  in  the 
nature  of — er — what  I  call  a  Cabinet  secret. 
You'll  be  very  careful,  won't  you  ?  In  next 
week's  Budget  you  can  boom  the  news  for  ail 
it's  worth." 

"I  should  like  to  let  a  friend  of  mine  into  the 
know,"  said  Gilbert. 

"One  friend?" 

"Only  one!" 

"  Personal  friend  ?" 


i87 


"Yes,  certainly,  a  personal  friend;  some  one 
who  has  been  very  kind " 

"If  you  can  trust  your  friend,  Mr.  Gilbert, 
well  and  good.  But  do  be  careful.  These  little 
things  so  easily  go  wrong." 

Gilbert  went  down  the  lift.  Outside,  in  the 
bright  sunlight  of  busy  Queen  Victoria  Street,  he 
stopped. 

"I'll  go  straight  to  her,"  he  said. 

He  hailed  a  hansom  and  stood  on  the  step  to 
speak  to  the  driver. 

"Queen's  Gate!"  he  said. 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE  Rhine  in  August  belongs  not  to  Germany, 
but  to  America  and — in  a  lesser  extent — to 
England.  The  Kaiser  Wilhelm,  the  Germania, 
and  the  other  awning-covered  steamers  that 
hurry  from  Cologne  to  Mayence,  are  boarded  by 
folk  speaking  either  the  English  or  the  American 
language;  the  hotels  that  give  their  titles  in 
three  languages,  so  that  none  may  have  cause  for 
hesitation,  are  in  a  state  of  siege,  and  nobody 
relishes  the  invasion  more  than  the  invaded 
Germans.  Mr.  Gilbert — journalist,  financial  man, 
engaged  youth,  one  with  the  rosiest  of  pros- 
pects— had  stood  at  the  side  of  the  steamer 
as  it  left  Cologne  and  had  laughed  with  satis- 
faction. His  reception  at  the  Coblentz  land- 
ing-stage by  the  entire  household  of  the  Villa 
Hermosa  was  most  gratifying;  but  not  more 
gratifying  than  the  attentions  that  were  paid  to 
him  during  the  week.  Rooms  had  been  taken 
for  him  at  the  Hotel  du  Geant,  and  his  days  were 
spent  in  trips  organized  by  the  assiduous  Mrs. 


i8g 


Brentford.  The  party  had  been  across  the  river 
to  Ehrenbreitstein — with  the  exception  of  the 
stout  youth,  Mr.  Lancing,  who  objected  to  all 
exercise  as  cruel;  they  had  been  down  the  wind- 
ing, undecided  Moselle  to  Treves;  they  had 
been  up  the  Rhine  to  Bingen;  they  had  held 
a  picnic  near  Stoltenfels.  Aucun  incident,  as  the 
French  journals  say.  But  Miss  Campbelltown, 
of  the  Ladies'  Own,  had  told  the  stout  minor 
artist  (whom  she  loved)  that  something  was 
going  to  happen  soon. 

"Mark  my  words,"  Miss  Campbelltown  had 
said  mysteriously. 

They  were  sitting  on  one  of  the  balconies  on 
the  Rhine  side  of  the  Villa  Hermosa.  There 
were  many  balconies  at  the  Villa  Hermosa;  a 
distinct  advantage,  inasmuch  as  if  you  wanted 
to  evade  old  Howson,  who  had  been  an  editor 
of  some  paper  in  the  fifties  (now  extinct),  and 
cherished  against  somebody  a  grievance  that  was 
at  least  forty  years  old,  you  went  to  the  upper 
balcony,  where  you  perhaps  found  little  Miss 
Howson,  his  daughter,  whose  company  was  the 
more  gracious;  similarly,  if  the  lady  of  the  house 
desired  to  consult  Gilbert  on  financial  matters — 
Mrs.  Brentford  insisted  on  looking  upon  Gilbert 


as  a  prospective  governor  of  the  Bank  of  Eng- 
land— why,  there  was  sure  to  be  a  disengaged 
balcony  overlooking  the  Mainzer  Chaussee. 

"I  am  sorry  to  be  so  near  the  end,"  said 
Gilbert. 

He  rested  an  elbow  on  the  wooden  railing  of 
the  balcony,  and  took  his  cigar-case  from  his 
pocket.  In  doing  so  a  letter  in  the  familiar  writ- 
ing of  Kittie  Reade  fluttered  down,  and,  as  he 
picked  it  up,  he  flushed. 

"The  regret  will  be  mainly  on  my  side," 
declared  Gertrude  Brentford  earnestly.  "  Do 
smoke." 

"I  suppose,  when  I  get  back  to  the  Budget,  I 
shall  have  to  take  off  my  coat  and  do  my  best  to 
fill  Bradley  Webbe's  place."  He  laughed  a  little 
uneasily.  "  Poor  old  Bradley  Webbe  !  He's 
unlucky." 

"  Why  is  he  leaving  ?  " 

"Well,  I  scarcely  know  how  to  explain  it. 
The  Proprietor  didn't  care  for  him." 

"Of  course,  Bradley  Webbe  can't  say  that 
you  have  helped  to  oust  him  out  of  the 
position  ?  " 

"  I  hope  he  won't  say  that,"  answered  Gilbert 
with  some  anxiety. 


"  He  is  sure  not  to  hint  that  you  have  done 
any  thing  unfair,"  said  Mrs.  Brentford.  "Any 
one  who  knows  you,  Gilbert " 

"  Quite  so,  quite  so." 

"  Would  never  think  of  suggesting  that  you 
could  act  in  any  way " 

"I  suppose  that  is  so." 

"Ah!"  said  Gertrude  Brentford,  "you  have 
all  a  good  man's  modesty." 

Gilbert  picked  a  flower  from  the  creeping  blue 
clematis  on  the  wall,  and  hummed  a  tune  softly 
to  give  himself  time  to  regain  his  self-possession. 

"  I  wonder  what  your  future  will  be  like, 
Gilbert?" 

"I  beg  your  pardon?" 

Gertrude  Brentford  repeated  the  question. 
She  leaned  back  in  the  basket  chair  and  placed 
one  small  foot  on  a  ledge  of  the  balcony.  It  was 
a  small,  neatly-slippered  foot,  and  there  was  thus 
every  excuse  for  giving  it  some  little  prominence. 
Too  often  it  is  the  large,  bulging,  elastic-side 
boot  that  is  allowed  by  ladies  to  be  en  Evidence  ; 
boots  which  bring  no  gratification  to  the  heart  of 
man,  and  should  be  used  exclusively  for  the  pur- 
pose of  frightening  birds.  The  silver  buckle  on 
Gertrude  Brentford's  slippers  caught  the  last  rays 


of  the  declining  sun  through  the  lime-trees  and 
made  Gilbert  blink  as  he  glanced  at  it. 

11  It's  rather  difficult  to  say,"  answered  Gilbert. 
"  My  future  depends,  I  suppose,  partly  on  myself, 
partly  on  my  friends.  In  some  moods  I  foresee 
Westminster  Abbey;  in  other  moods  the  pauper 
side  of  Kensal  Green.  Can  you  do  any  thing  at 
palmistry  ?" 

"  Not  unless  you  give  me  your  hand,"  she  said 
softly. 

The  voice  of  Miss  Campbelltown  came  from 
the  small  drawing-room  below.  Miss  Campbell- 
town  was  a  good  journalist,  but,  as  little  Miss 
Howson  remarked,  she  could  not  sing  for  nuts. 
Now,  not  to  be  able  to  sing  for  nuts  is  (one  may 
translate  for  the  benefit  of  country  gentlemen)  to 
sing  with  want  of  accuracy.  Gilbert  had  only 
half  heard  the  last  remark  and  did  not  reply. 

"Let  us  go  out  into  the  avenue,"  said  Mrs. 
Brentford.  He  picked  up  a  lace  shawl  and  placed 
it  over  her  head.  "  Thank  you  so  much." 

It  was  growing  dim  out  in  the  long,  long 
avenue  that  reaches  from  the  barracks  at  Co- 
blentz  up  to  Laubach.  Here  and  there  statues  of 
Fame  and  of  Liberty,  and  other  abstract  things, 
gleamed  at  the  side;  a  few  hard-up  German 


1 93 


officers  were  strolling  along,  wooing,  with  mili- 
tary pertinacity,  plain  daughters  of  well-to-do 
Coblentz  tradesfolk. 

"  Do  you  mind  taking  my  arm,  Gilbert  ?  I  am 
afraid  of  stumbling.  Let  us  walk  in  this  direc- 
tion; we  can  find  a  place  to  look  down  upon  the 
Rhine." 

"I  admire  the  Rhine  too  much  to  do  that." 

"  I  want  to  ask  you  something.  I  want  to  ask 
you  if  you — if  you  are  engaged." 

There  was  a  pause. 

''Well,"  said  Gilbert  evasively,  "I  have  no 
contract  signed  with  the  Proprietor,  but  if  he 
gives  me  the  editorship,  I  shall  insist " 

''Are  you  engaged  to  Miss  Reade  ? " 

"ToMissReade?"    He  coughed.    "  Oh,  no  !  " 

It  is  so  easy  sometimes  not  to  tell  the  truth. 
People  say  the  thing  untrue  either  because  they 
are  lazy,  or  because  they  are  ingenious.  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  Gilbert  blurted  out  this  denial 
mainly  because  he  did  not  want  to  have  to  enter 
into  explanations. 

"  I  am  so  glad.  So  glad.  She  is  a  good,  dear 
little  girl,  but " 

"  I  admire  her  very  much,"  remarked  Gilbert 
earnestly. 
13 


I94 


"But  she  is  not  quite  the  wife  that  you 
want.  She  will  make  somebody  very  happy, 
but " 

"It's  a  pity  that  these  things  are  not  managed 
by  a  State  department.  It  would  save  people  a 
great  deal  of  trouble." 

"I  suppose  some  people  like  the  trouble. 
Here  is  the  place." 

They  could  look  across  over  the  low,  solid 
brick  wall  at  the  broad  river.  By  the  side  of 
the  wall  was  a  map  of  the  Rhine  from  Cologne  to 
Basle.  The  birds,  looking  down  upon  the  two, 
twittered  in  the  high  branches  of  the  trees  with 
an  air  of  lively  interest,  as  who  should  say, 
"  Here's  more  fun/'  ^Jt  occurred  to  Gilbert  quite 
suddenly  that  Gertrude  Brentford  was  an  ex- 
ceedingly good-looking  woman;  the  faint  sus- 
picion of  matronliness  that  day-time  with  its 
brutal  frankness  suggested  was  absent  now. 

"I  suppose  that  being  in  love,"  she  said 
slowly,  "is  a  kind  of  agreeable  madness." 

"I  believe  that  marriage  not  infrequently 
restores  the  patients  to  sanity." 

She  turned  to  him  quickly. 

"Why  do  you  always  talk  like  that,  Gilbert? 
You  make  me  think  at  times  that  you  are  want- 


195 

ing  in  sincerity.  It  is  because  you  are  trying  to 
conceal  your  real  self  ! " 

"I  am  always  rather  cautious,  I  suppose. 
The  fact  is  that,  before  my  present  life,  I  had  the 
experience  of  forty  years.  That  enables  me,  you 
see,  to  avoid  the  errors  other  youths  commit." 

"You  absurd  person!"  laughed  Gertrude 
Brentford.  The  quaint  conceit  restored  her 
good  humor,  and  she  patted  his  arm  with  an 
affectionate  manner  of  reproof.  "One  cannot 
be  annoyed  with  you." 

"But  touching  this  question  of  wives,"  said 
Gilbert. 

It  is  not  easy  to  say  why,  at  this  moment, 
Gilbert  placed  his  hand  gently  on  her  shoulder. 
Gertrude  Brentford  gave  a  little  shiver  of  delight 
and  did  not  protest. 

"What  kind  of  a  partner  do  you  think  I  ought 
to  advertise  for?"  he  went  on. 

"I  think,"  she  said  slowly,  "that  you  want 
some  one  whose  position  in  the  world  would  help 
you.  You  want  some  one  who  can  take  a  sincere 
interest  in  all  that  you  do.  You  want  some  one 
who — who  loves  you.  You  want  some  one  who 
can  help  you  at  once  to  make  a  name  in  the 
world.  You  want " 


196 


"It's  a  long  advertisement,"  interrupted  Gil- 
bert. He  touched  a  vagrant  curl  on  her  neck, 
and  as  he  bent  his  head  slightly  the  soft  perfume 
of  her  hair  came  to  him.  "And  there  would 
probably  be  no  answers." 

Her  fingers  played  a  quick  tune  on  the  low 
brick  wall. 

"  There  would  be  one  answer,"  she  said 
slowly. 

"From  whom  ?" 

She  stepped  back  suddenly,  and  held  out  her 
hands  to  him  appealingly.  The  birds  up  in  the 
branches  sang  with  much  excitement. 

"Can't  you  see,"  she  cried  with  something  of 
t  a  wail  in  her  voice — "can't  you  see  that  I  love 
you?" 

The  birds  up  in  the  high  branches  of  the  limes 
of  the  Rhine  Anlagen  twittered  now  with  enthu- 
siasm, as  though  the  sight  of  two  mortals  hold- 
ing each  other  in  their  arms  for  a  brief  moment 
were  the  most  gratifying  spectacle  in  the  world. 
Gilbert  had  not  hesitated;  he  saw,  with  the 
foresight  that  experience  gave  him,  in  a  quick 
flash  of  anticipation  the  advantages  of  a  wife 
with  a  house  in  Queen's  Gate.  Years  of  his  new 
existence  would  be  economized;  at  one  step  he 


197 

would  be  able  to  breathe  an  atmosphere  of 
luxury. 

He  kissed  Gertrude  Brentford  on  the  lips,  and 
the  excited  birds  flew  off  to  tell  other  birds  of 
their  acquaintance  all  about  it. 

' '  You  mean  that  ?  "  he  asked.  "You  mean  that 
you  do  love  me  ?  I  want  to  hear  you  say  it  again." 

"  I  am  willing  to  say  it  all  my  life,"  she 
answered  softly. 

"I  wonder — I  wonder  how  it  is  that  I  have 
never  guessed  this  ?" 

"Perhaps  it  was  because  you  were  not " 

"  Not  conceited  enough  ?  That  was  it.  I 
never  dared  to  think  for  one  moment  that  you 
would  care  to  marry  me;  I  should  never  have 
ventured  to  ask  you." 

"The  fact  that  I  proposed  to  you,  Gilbert," 
she  said  nervously,  "  is  not  to  be  remembered  to 
my  debit." 

"They  say  the  queen  did  it,"  answered  Gil- 
bert encouragingly.  "As  a  loyal  subject,  the 
least  you  could  do  was  to  emulate  her  example." 

"  But,  Gilbert,"  rather  anxiously. 

"Gertrude." 

"  You — you  have  always  cared  for  me,  haven't 
you  ? " 


ig8 


"Since  the  moment  that  I  first  saw  you,"  said 
Gilbert  gravely. 

He  comforted  himself  with  a  swift  reflection 
that  the  moderate  form  of  the  question  enabled 
him  to  answer  it  with  absolute  truth.  And  No. 
310  Queen's  Gate  was  really  a  charming  house; 
his  study  would  look  out  on  the  Institute. 

He  took  her  arm,  and  they  walked  down  the 
long,  foliage-roofed  avenue  toward  the  villa. 

"I  wonder  what  would  happen,"  she  asked 
laughingly,  "if  a  woman  were  to  propose  to 
some  one  who  didn't  want  to  marry  her." 

"Quite  easy,  dear.  The  gentleman  would 
reply,  with  becoming  modesty,  that  it  was  impos- 
sible to  give  the  hand  where  the  heart  could 
never  be,  and  he  would  offer  as  an  alternative  to 
be  as  a  brother  to  the  lady." 

"There  is  really  no  reason  why  men  should 
claim  the  monopoly." 

"It  is  a  relic  of  the  barbarous  age,"  agreed 
Gilbert.  "We  are  working  away  from  the  old 
practice  of  permitting  the  gentleman  to  stun  the 
lady  with  a  battle-axe  and  ride  off  with  her,  but 
the  process  is  slow.  Do  you  mind  doing  some- 
thing to  oblige  me,  Gertrude  ? " 

"With  pleasure,  dear." 


199 


"  Kiss  me  again." 

Decidedly  Gilbert's  experience  came  to  his 
aid  effectively  now,  for  he  showed  none  of  the 
gaucherie  that  the  average  youth  exhibits  in  try- 
ing circumstances.  Gertrude  Brentford,  sin- 
cerely happy,  stood  at  the  tall  iron  gate  leading 
to  the  garden  of  the  Villa  Hermosa. 

"We  must  come  out  here  next  year,  Gilbert," 
she  said  contentedly.  "You  will  be  host  then, 
and  you  must  invite  your  friends." 

He  took  her  chin  and  looked  into  her  eyes. 

"Would  you  like  me  to  tell  these  people 
now  ?  "  he  asked;  "  or  shall  we«^eep  it  locked  in 
our  own  hearts  as  a  mysterious  secret  ?  " 

"I  think — I  think  I  would  rather  it  were 
known  to  them.  Besides,  they  will  be  sure  to 
guess.  Is  that  a  steamer  going  down?" 

Out  on  the  Rhine  the  Germania  was  making 
its  way  back  to  Cologne,  pushing  along  with 
much  determination,  and  making  the  river  form 
miniature  affrighted  waves.  A  baritone  voice 
came  from  the  deck  through  the  still  air,  singing: 

"  Ich  habe  ja  Ew'ge  Treu  verspochen  dir, 

Wohl  unter  heissen  Wonneklissen. 
In  meinen  Augen  siehst  du  mehr 
Als  Mond  und  Sterne  wissen." 


There  was  a  pause. 

"  '  In  meinen  Augen  siehst  du  mehr,'  "  echoed 
Gertrude  Brentford  softly. 

There  were  tears  in  her  eyes. 

"Gilbert  Gilbert,"  said  the  young  man  to 
himself,  "you  are  a  scoundrel.  You  are  behav- 
ing like  a  scoundrel,  and  you  are  a  scoundrel." 

Nevertheless,  he  managed  to  enter  the  draw- 
ing-room of  the  villa  with  some  gayety  of  heart. 
He  could  see  so  well  that  it  meant  prosperity, 
and  the  thought  soothed  his  indignation  at  his 
act.  It  is  easy  to  persuade  ourselves  that  we 
are  not  really  so  black  as  in  a  moment  of  anger 
we  have  painted  ourselves;  one  must  use  toler- 
ance in  this  world,  even  in  regard  to  our  own 
faults. 

"Miss  Howson,  come  here;  Miss  Campbell- 
town,  come  here  also,  please.  I  want  to  speak 
to  you  on  a  subject  of  importance." 

"  Good  Heavens,  Gilbert  ! "  said  old  Mr. 
Howson,  "you  are  not  going  to  propose  to  both 
of  them,  are  you  ?  " 

Old  Mr.  Howson  laughed  so  much  at  his  joke 
that  he  coughed  and  was  forced  to  sip  his 
whiskey-and-water. 

"I    scent    romance,"    said    the    stout    artist 


201 


lazily.  "  I  find  a  distinct  suggestion  of  romance. 
I  hope  it  will  be  understood  that,  while  I  am  not 
unwilling  to  listen  to  romance  if  it  comes  to  me, 
I  am  willing  to  make  no  effort  to  go  out  to  meet 
romance." 

"Where  is  Mrs.  Brentford?"  asked  Miss 
Campbelltown. 

"  She  is  gathering  a  buttonhole  in  the  garden 
for  me." 

"  Is  there  some  hidden  mystery  here  ? "  de- 
manded old  Mr.  Howson,  chuckling.  "I 
remember  at  the  time  of  the  Crimean  war — I 
was  a  mere  youngster  at  the  time — and  a  lady 
of  my  acquaintance " 

"I  only  want  to  tell  you,"  interrupted  Gilbert, 
"that  Mrs.  Brentford  has  promised  to  be  my 
wife." 

Mouvement.  Gertrude  Brentford,  entering, 
was  immediately  kissed  by  the  ladies  and 
covered  with  exuberant  congratulations.  The 
servant  bringing  in  wine,  old  Mr.  Howson 
craned  himself  into  a  standing  position,  and 
offered  his  good  wishes  in  a  little  speech. 

"Young  people:  this  announcement  fills  me, 
and  I  am  sure  every  one  else,  with  the  greatest 
delight.  I  have  known  our  charming  hostess  for 


2O2 


some  time;  I  knew  her  poor  husband,  who  was 
certainly  the  oddest " 

Miss  Howson  coughed  warningly. 

"I'm  sure  that  you'll  both  be  very  happy. 
My  friend  Gilbert,  if  he  will  permit  me  to  call 
him  so,  is  one  of  those  men  who  are  bound  to 
get  along  in  the  world.  The  stars  in  their 
courses  fight  in  his  favor " 

"  Hear,  hear  !  "  from  the  stout  artist. 

"And,  if  our  good  wishes  are  of  any  effect, 
he  will  be  very,  very  happy  with  his  delightful 
companion.  Journalists  nowadays  have  oppor- 
tunities that  in  my  younger  days  were  never 
dreamed  of.  In  '55,  as  I  may  have  mentioned  to 
one  or  two  of  you,  I  was  unfortunate  enough  to 
encounter  the  most  confounded  scamp  of  a " 

Little  Miss  Howson  coughed  warningly 
again. 

"  Let  me  conclude  by  asking  you  all  to  drink 
to  their  healths  and  to  their  great  prosperity  in 
a  good,  honest,  English  way.  Ladies  and  gen- 
tlemen, charge  your  glasses.  Mrs.  Brentford 
and  Gilbert,  to  you  !  " 

Gilbert,  rather  nervous,  begged  to  be  allowed 
to  say,  very  briefly,  thank  you.  If  he  had  been  an 
orator,  he  would  have  bored  them  with  a  speech. 


203 


As  it  was  he  could  only  say  again  for  his  dear 
love — 

Gertrude  Brentford's  eyes  fill  again. 

— And  himself,  thank  you,  and  good-night. 

"My  dear  Mrs.  Brentford,"  said  Miss  Camp- 
belltown,  "  I  knew  it  all  the  time.  And  I'm  so 
pleased,  really." 

Miss  Campbelltown  was  eliciting  additional 
facts,  like  the  practised  interviewer  she  was,  by 
a  visit  to  Gertrude  Brentford's  room. 

"And  may  I  mention  it,  when  I  return,  in  the 
Ladies'  Own?  I  can  make  rather  a  charming 
little  par.  out  of  it." 

"Please  don't.  I  am  not  sure  that  Gilbert 
would  care  for  it  to  be  publicly  known  yet." 

She  stood  up  in  front  of  the  cheval  glass  and 
looked  contentedly  at  the  reflection  of  a  glad 
face. 

"You  look  five  years  younger,  dear  Mrs. 
Brentford,"  said  the  lady  journalist  ingratiat- 
ingly. "I  must  really  see  about  falling  in  love 
myself,  if  it  has  that  effect." 

"I  am  so  very  happy,"  said  Gertrude  Brent- 
ford softly,  "that  I  think  presently  I  shall 
cry." 

Miss  Campbelltown,  having  promised  to  keep 


204 


the  additional  details  an  absolute  secret,  looked 
in  at  Ethel  Howson's  room  on  her  way  to  her 
own  bedroom  and  confided  the  new  information 
to  that  young  person. 

"Good!"  cried  little  Miss  Howson.  She 
turned  down  the  page  of  her  novel  and  closed 
it,  for  love  in  real  life  is  so  much  more  interest- 
ing than  love  in  books.  "I  am  glad  to  hear  it. 
I  could  see  she  was  fond  of  him." 

"  I  don't  see  that  that  has  any  thing  to  do  with 
it,"  grumbled  Miss  Campbelltown.  "I  wonder 
how  many  times  she  expects  to  marry.  There's 
little  chance  for  us  single  girls,  if  widows  are  to 
go  on  like  this.  Surely  a  maximum  of  one  ought 
to  be  fixed." 

'*  Have  you  never  been  engaged,  dear  ?  " 

"Well,  I  have  been  engaged,"  said  Miss 
Campbelltown  guardedly,  "and  I  haven't  been 
engaged,  if  you  can  understand  that.  Some 
men  are  very  careful  not  to  absolutely  pledge 
their  word  to  you.  Besides  it's  a  well-known 
fact  that  folk  don't  marry  so  frequently  nowa- 
days as  they  used  to." 

"I  shouldn't  want  to  marry  frequently,"  said 
little  Miss  Howson,  nursing  her  knees.  "  Once 
would  do." 


205 


"What  I  mean  to  say  is  that  it's  a  distinctive 
thing  for  a  girl  to  do  to  remain  single  all  her 
life." 

"It  might  be  distinctive,"  said  little  Miss 
Howson.  "It  would  certainly  be  very  disap- 
pointing." 


CHAPTER  XII 

IN  his  room  at  the  Hotel — facing  the  bridge  of 
boats,  facing  the  Rhine  running  swiftly  Cologne 
way,  facing  the  high  fortress  of  Ehrenbreitstein, 
which  keeps  a  frowning  eye  on  both  the  Moselle 
and  on  the  sturdier  and  more  decided  river — in 
his  room  a  clever  young  writer  was  in  the  throes 
of  composition.  There  are  several  dodges  at  the 
disposal  of  literary  men  to  enable  them  to  write, 
and  they  select  the  one  which  affords  them  the 
greatest  assistance.  Some  walk  about  their 
study  for  a  space  before  applying  themselves  to 
work,  much  as  though  they  were  engaged  on  a 
go-as-you-please  race,  and  when  they  finish  the 
last  lap  they  seat  themselves  and  write  quickly. 
Others,  of  whom  in  a  general  way  Gilbert  was 
one,  dispense  with  this  pedestrian  exercise  and 
let  the  pen  do  as  it  pleases,  correcting  the  pen's 
errors  afterward.  In  the  work  upon  which  Gil- 
bert found  himself  engaged,  neither  plan  seemed 
of  much  assistance. 


207 


"  MY  DEAR  KITTIE: 

"  My  short  holiday  is  nearly  over  and  I  shall 
be  back  at  the  Budget  early  next  week.  I  dare 
say  that  we  shall  see  each  other. 

"  I  have  been  considering  our  engagement 
and " 

There  it  seemed  his  powers  of  composition 
ended.  The  ink  had  long  been  dry,  and  the 
various  ways  of  continuing  the  letter  were  con- 
fusing themselves  in  his  brain. 

"  It  is  not  easy,"  he  said  thoughtfully,  "  to 
play  the  part  of  a  scamp,  but " 

A  steamer  with  cargo  was  coming  up  the 
Rhine.  Two  boats  of  the  bridge,  creaking  and 
grumbling  bitterly  at  being  disturbed  so  late  at 
night,  came  away  with  grudging  politeness  and 
allowed  the  cargo-steamer  to  pass  through. 
There  was  some  severe  badinage  in  German;  the 
two  boats  went  back  and  took  their  place  in 
the  bridge.  Down  below,  at  the  tables  outside 
the  restaurant  next  door,  was  a  queer,  fore- 
shortened view  of  white-topped  tables  and 
fierce-mustached  officers  in  uniform,  and  long, 
thin  glasses  of  beer.  A  couple  of  privates 
stopped  in  the  roadway,  and  saluted,  with  much 


208 


care  and  particularity,  the  seated,  fierce-mus- 
tached  officers. 

"But,"  said  Gilbert  to  himself,  "  it's  of  course 
the  best  thing  to  do  for  every-body.  And  " — he 
tried  to  laugh  and  failed —  "  and  especially  for  me. " 

He  looked  out  again  at  the  river  ;  looked 
across  the  river  at  the  high,  burly  fort;  tried 
hard  to  listen  to  the  talk  of  the  people  below, 
and  saw  not  the  Rhine  and  Ehrenbreitstein, 
heard  not  the  talk  of  the  people  below,  but  saw 
Kittle  Reade  taking  up  the  letter  which  he  was 
trying  to  write  from  her  breakfast-table.  Saw 
her  kiss  it  and  hide  it  in  her  blouse.  Heard 
old  Mrs.  Reade's  distracting  conversation.  Saw 
Kittie  at  the  earliest  opportunity  take  the  letter 
from  its  sweet  resting-place,  open  the  envelope 
with  much  care  (for  lovers'  letters,  mind  you, 
are  not  to  be  torn  open  roughly  as  though  they 
were  circulars  from  the  draper),  saw  her  open 
the  letter  and  read  the  first  lines.  Saw  Kittie's 
face  go  white;  saw  the  blouse  palpitating  hur- 
riedly; heard  her  scream 

"I'm  upsetting  myself  for  nothing  at  all," 
cried  Gilbert,  wiping  the  perspiration  from  his 

forehead.  "It's  quite  likely  that — that 

Where's  my  pipe?" 


20Q 


If  a  man  likes  to  smoke,  and  if  a  man  flatters 
a  certain  tobacco  by  remaining  constant  to  it, 
that  tobacco  will  repay  his  devotion  at  certain 
crises  of  the  man's  life  in  a  most  vaTuable  way. 
Before  Gilbert's  pipe  was  half  done  he  had 
finished  his  letter.  He  sat  back  when  the  task 
was  over,  feeling  somehow  more  content  than 
before.  This  slight  revulsion  of  feeling  increased 
until  he  approached  the  stage  where  men  wonder 
with  a  kind  of  gratified  surprise  at  the  very 
moderate  character  of  their  vices.  If  he  had 
been  the  average  sentimental  youth,  he  would 
have  clung  to  his  first  promise,  and  Queen's 
Gate  would  have  weighed  as  nothing;  being  (he 
argued)  a  young  man  of  considerable  experience, 
he  had  seen  in  a  moment  which  was  the  most 
profitable  course  to  pursue. 

He  took  up  the  letter: 

"My  DEAR  KITTIE  : 

"  My  short  holiday  is  nearly  over  and  I  shall 
be  back  at  the  Budget  early  next  week.  I  dare 
say  that  we  shall  see  each  other. 

"  I  have  been  considering  our  brief  engage- 
ment, and  I  want  you  to  let  me  say  honestly 
what  I  think  of  the  matter.  I  hope  you  will 
14 


believe  that  I  like  you  very  much.  But  we  are 
both  young,  and  I  think  we  became  engaged  with- 
out due  and  sober  consideration.  Shall  we  can- 
cel the  past,  and  see  at  the  end  of  twelve  months 
whether  we  care  for  each  other  well  enough  to 
resume  the  engagement  ? 

"I  like  to  think  that  you  are  a  common-sense 
little  woman,  who  will  look  at  the  whole  affair  as 
calmly  as  I  do.  Let  me  know  what  you  decide 
when  I  return. 

"  Meanwhile  and  always, 

"  Believe  me, 

"Yours  sincerely, 

"GILBERT." 

Gilbert  read  this  through  several  times,  and 
dotted  the  z's,  and  inserted  commas  with  partic- 
ular care.  He  sighed. 

"Now,"  he  said,  "if  any  one  will  kindly  come 
and  knock  me  down  several  times  I  shall  feel 
better." 

He  addressed  the  envelope.  By  force  of 
habit  he  placed  on  the  flap  of  the  envelope  the 
tiny  cross  which  Kittie  and  he  had  always  placed 
on  their  communications.  He  addressed  another, 
and  rang  the  bell. 


"Sare  !" 

"  I  want  you  to  get  me  a  twenty-five  pfennig 
stamp,  waiter." 

"In  two  minutes,  sare." 

The  waiter  reappeared  with  the  stamp,  and 
stood  while  Gilbert  slowly  placed  it  on  the  letter. 

"Lods  of  beople  in  Coblentz,"  remarked  the 
waiter.  "Ver*  busy.  Many  Am — ericans  haf 
gome  here  alretty." 

"Post  that,"  said  Gilbert  after  a  pause,  "and 
come  back  here." 

A  gleam  of  satisfaction  came  over  the  waiter's 
face  as  he  glanced  at  the  address. 

"Goot!" 

When  the  waiter  returned,  Gilbert  was  sitting 
on  the  ledge  of  the  window.  The  waiter  was 
a  tall,  middle-aged  man  with  domino-shaped 
whiskers  and  close-cut  hair.  As  he  looked  up  to 
touch  the  lamp,  the  light  fell  distinctly  on  his 
face. 

"Why,  I  know  you  !  "  cried  Gilbert  quickly. 

"Possible,  sare." 

The  waiter  turned  away,  as  though  anxious  to 
avoid  recognition. 

"Why,  you — you  are " 

"  I've  never  been  discovered  before,"  said  the 


waiter,  laughing.  He  sat  on  the  table  with  easy, 
well-bred  familiarity.  "  Don't  let  any  body 
know,  that's  all.  You're  a  sharp  fellow,  Gilbert, 
to  recognize  me." 

"  What  number  of  life  is  this  ?  "  asked  Gilbert. 
The  diversion  of  encountering  Ford  came  op- 
portunely, for  his  thoughts  were  not  entirely 
pleasant. 

"  Well,  this  is  a  new  life  altogether,"  said  Mr. 
Ford.  "Adopted  for  a  special  purpose." 

"Which  is?" 

"Which  is,"  said  Mr.  Ford,  "a  secret." 

"  What  a  man  you  are  ! " 

"  I  am  several  men.  I  have  only  arrived  to- 
day, and  I  shall  stay  a  week.  But  I  shall  be 
particularly  obliged,  Mr.  Gilbert,  if  you  will  take 
care  not  to  speak  of  me  to  any  body.  I  have  a 
very  urgent  reason  for  that." 

"  Rely  upon  me." 

"  And  if  I  can  do  any  thing  while  I  am  here,  to 
assist  you  in  any  way,  I  shall  be  glad." 

"You  can  do  something  for  me  at  once. 
Bring  some  whiskey  and  some  mineral  water  in 
those  cool  little  jars,  and  two  glasses " 

"Two?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Gilbert;  "  one  for  yourself." 


213 

When  Ford  brought  the  glasses  he  sat  down 
and  allowed  Gilbert  to  play  the  host.  The  hour 
was  late,  and  his  services  were  not  required  else- 
where in  the  hotel. 

"  When  did  I  see  you  last,  Mr.  Ford  ?  I  don't 
think  I've  seen  you  since  I  visited  Limehouse 
Causeway." 

"Really?" 

"  But  I  have  wondered  once  or  twice  what  you 
were  doing.  I  thought  your  next  life  was  to  be 
a  military  person,  with  rooms  in " 

"  He's  buried — for  the  present.  I  came  to 
Coblentz  because " 

He  hesitated,  and  pushed  his  chair  back  into 
the  shade. 

"Because  my  wife  is  here." 

"You  married  ?  And  what  in  the  world  does 
your  wife  think  of  your  eccentric  behavior?  " 

"She  does  not  mind,"  answered  Ford  calmly. 

"That's  lucky  for  you.  Some  wives  would 
seriously  object  to  having  so  many  husbands.  Is 
she  staying  in  lodgings  in  the  town  ?  I  should 
like  to  meet  her,  and  see  what  she  thinks  of  you." 

"You  shall,"  said  Mr.  Ford,  in  the  shade,  "if 
it  is  convenient.  I  am  going  out  to  North  Africa 
next  week." 


2I4 


"Another  quick  change  !  And  do  you  take 
her  with  you  ? " 

"Good  God,  no!"  exclaimed  Ford.  "I  can 
only  endure  the  society  of  men  for  a  little  while; 
the  society  of  women  sends  me  frantic." 

"With  joy?" 

"No,  no!  with  annoyance." 

"You  ought  never  to  have  married,  Ford." 

"I  know  that,"  said  Mr.  Ford,  "now.  It  was 
a  great  blunder  of  mine.  Unfortunately,  it  is  one 
of  the  few  blunders  that  cannot  be  remedied 
without  an  infinite  amount  of  trouble." 

"  But  I  fancied  you  rather  enjoyed  your  present 
attitude  of  irresponsibility." 

"Why,  yes,  I  believe  I  do;  lam  sure  I  do. 
But  I  am  not  certain  that  some  day  I  shall  not  tire 
of  the  monotony  of  change  and  begin  to  think 
about  returning  to  the  old  life." 

"Your  wife  will  be  pleased." 

"You  think  she  will,  Gilbert  ?" 

"  There  can  be  little  doubt  about  that.  AVhat 
shall  you  do  in  North  Africa  ?  " 

"  My  mind  is  not  yet  made  up.  I  thought  at 
first  about  being  a  missionary,  but  I  saw  por- 
traits the  other  day  of  some,  and " 

"You  pass  the  missionary  idea." 


215 


"Yes.     I  think  I  shall  do  some  shooting." 

"  Take  care  that  the  natives  don't  ;  they  have 
an  awkward  habit  of  potting  Europeans  with 
their  Birmingham  rifles." 

"  Nothing  would  suit  me  better,"  said  Mr.  Ford 
cheerfully.  "  It  would  save  me  and  other  people 
a  lot  of  worry.  But  I  suppose  it  is  a  notorious 
fact  that  those  who  want  to  die  can  never  do  so." 

"It's  very  hard,"  said  Gilbert. 

"Suicide  is  such  a  messy  business.  Besides,  it 
always  looks  so  theatrical." 

"It's  a  drama  that  I  don't  care  for,"  agreed 
Gilbert.  "I  think  a  man  should  endure  his 
life,  and  let  Providence  say  when  it  is  to  end. 
Providence  knows  best:  it  has  had  such  a  lot  of 
experience." 

Ford  rose,  lighted  another  cigarette,  and,  lean- 
ing his  elbows  on  the  mantle-piece,  looked  down 
at  Gilbert.  There  was  always  a  certain  refine- 
ment on  Ford's  face,  and  his  carefully-tended 
finger  nails  were  in  themselves  almost  enough  to 
betray  him. 

"You're  going  back  to  town?"  he  added 
abruptly. 

"Yes  ;  I  can't  stay  much  longer." 

"  Going  to  get  married  soon,  I  suppose  ?" 


216 


"As  it  happens,  you  are  right,  Ford.  I  am  to 
be  married  very  soon.  I  have  just  been  making 
some  arrangements  this  evening." 

"I  am  pleased  to  hear  it — very  pleased  indeed. 
And  look  here,  Gilbert:  I  don't  know  whether  I 
ever  mentioned  it,  but — I  have  plenty  of  money." 

"  I  guessed  you  were  not  a  pauper." 

"And  on  your  wedding-day  I  wish  you  would 
do  me  a  favor.  I  shall  be  away  a  few  thousand 
miles  at  the  time,  and  I  should  like  to  feel  that  I 
was  doing  something  to  help  to  make  you  both 
happy." 

Gilbert  rose,  with  genuine  recognition  of 
Ford's  generosity. 

"I'll  get  you  on  the  morning  of  the  wedding 
to  send  a  letter  down  to  Cox's,  the  bankers,  ask- 
ing them  for  a  parcel  addressed  to  you.  In  it 
you  will  find  some  things  of  considerable  money 
value,  which  you  and  " — he  smiled  one  of  his  rare 
smiles — "young  Mrs.  Gilbert  must  please  accept. 
There,  don't  thank  me;  I  am  doing  it  for  quite 
a  selfish  purpose.  It  is  only  to  afford  myself 
gratification." 

"I  am  sure  that  it  is  exceedingly  good  of 
you,"  cried  Gilbert.  "  She  will  be  delighted.  I 
shall  tell  her  all  about  you " 


217 

"  Pardon  me;  no.  I  am  sorry  in  a  sense  that 
you  recognized  me  to-night.  Don't  talk  of  me, 
please,  to  any  one  else  more  than  you  can  help. 
The  satisfaction  of  the  life  would  be  gone,  if  I 
once  felt  that  it  was  known  to  many  people.  Is 
she  as  old  as  you  ?  " 

"I  rather  fancy,"  said  Gilbert,  "that  she  is 
slightly  older." 

''Oh!" 

"But — "  hurriedly — "the  difference  is  noth- 
ing to  speak  of.  And,  as  there  is  no  occasion  to 
wait,  I  dare  say  we  shall  be  married  at  once." 

Mr.  Ford  walked  to  the  window,  and  sat  with 
his  back  to  the  river-side  and  his  head  bowed. 

"I  remember,"  he  said  slowly,  "that  when 
I  was  married  I  thought  the  world  was  going  to 
reconstruct  itself  for  my  special  convenience. 
I  thought  that  I  myself  should  be  altered,  and 
that  it  should  be " 

"Roses,  roses  all  the  way,"  suggested  Gilbert. 

"Yes.  And  my  wife  was  younger  than  I,  and 
we  were  happy,  and  I  was  some  one  else  until — 
No."  He  stopped  suddenly.  "No,  I'm  hanged 
if  I'm  going  to  become  a  bore !  Mr.  Gilbert, 
why  didn't  you  stop  me  ? " 

"I  was  interested." 


218 


"All  that  I  shall  tell  you  is  that  it  was  my 
fault.  Any  ordinary  man  would  have  been 
exceedingly  happy.  Now,  I  am  no  ordinary 
man,  unfortunately." 

"That  is  true." 

"All  the  same " 

"Well?" 

"All  the  same,  I'll  have  a  little  more  whiskey- 
and-water,  if  you  don't  mind." 

"My  dear  chap,  why  didn't  you  help  your- 
self?" 

"I  do,  generally." 

Gilbert  put  in  some  whiskey,  filled  up  his  glass 
with  water  from  the  slim  stone  jar,  and  Ford 
took  two  drinks. 

"I  shall  be  sorry  to  say  good-by  to  you,"  said 
Gilbert  earnestly.  "I  have  a  feeling  that  some- 
thing untoward  is  going  to  happen  to  me,  and 
I  should  like  to  have  a  man  like  you  to  advise 
me.  I  have  had  a  great  deal  of  experience 
altogether,  but  I  fancy  you,  with  all  your  oddi- 
ties, have  a  good  fund  of  solid  sense.  Two 
heads  are  better  than  one." 

"It  depends  on  the  quality.  Twice  one  is 
two,  but  twice  nought  is  nought." 

"I  am  not  prepared  to  disprove  that  calcula- 


tion.  But  yours  is  a  good  head,  and  I — well, 
I  wish  we  were  not  going  to  part." 

"God  bless  you!"  said  Ford.  "I  shall  think 
about  you  a  good  deal.  We  needn't  say  good- 
by  now,  though." 

He  went  out,  and  Gilbert  took  off  his  coat. 
His  bedroom  was  the  next  room,  and  he  shied 
the  coat  through  the  open  door  on  to  the  bed. 
The  bed  had  a  puffed,  inflated  little  scarlet 
counterpane  on  the  top,  which  seemed  to  be 
placed  there  in  order  that  it  might  slip  off  dur- 
ing the  night.  Germans  have  a  style  of  humor 
that  is  peculiarly  their  own. 

"  For  a  man,"  said  Gilbert,  swinging  his 
arms  as  athletic  young  men  do  before  retiring 
to  bed — "for  a  man  who  has  done  an  uncom- 
monly base  action  I  feel,  on  the  whole,  singularly 
comfortable.  I  suppose,  after  a  time,  it  will 
become  a  positive  source  of  delight." 

Mr.  Ford  reappeared  at  the  doorway.  He 
took  a  Pall  Mall  Gazette  from  his  pocket,  and 
glanced  at  it. 

"I  found  this  down  stairs,  Mr.  Gilbert.  If 
you  haven't  seen  a  London  newspaper^for  a  day 
or  two,  you  may  care  to  have  it." 

He  shook  hands.     At  the  door  he  stopped. 


220 

"Any  ordairs  for  the  morning,  sare?"  he 
asked  deferentially. 

"  No,  thank  you,  Fritz." 

"  Good-night." 

The  newspaper  had  a  piece  of  late  news 
inserted  hurriedly  in  the  "fudge,"  headed: 

"NEWS  AS  WE  GO  TO  PRESS 

"Warrants  have  been  granted  against  the 
directors  of  a  well-known  financial  scheme. 
The  Old  Jewry  authorities  are  taking  steps  for 
the  immediate  arrest  of  those  concerned." 

"Ah!"  said  Gilbert  philosophically;  "if  peo- 
ple will  dabble  in  shady  matters,  they  must 
expect  to  be  tripped  up." 

He  glanced  at  the  cricket  scores. 

"Well  done,  Grace  !  "  he  cried  approvingly. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

IT  was  a  heavy,  close  morning  when  Gilbert 
opened  his  window;  there  were  gray-brown 
clouds  above,  and  the  sun  had  apparently  given 
up  the  task  of  endeavoring  to  pierce  them.  A 
sound  of  grumbling  came  now  and  again  from  the 
skies.  The  youth  at  the  window  hastily  attrib- 
uted his  vague  feelings  of  depression  to  the 
atmosphere,  and  forced  himself  to  ignore  the  fact 
that  he  had  not  been  able  to  sleep  until  a  late 
hour.  The  tiny  book-stall  leaning  against  the 
office  on  the  side  of  the  river  was  being  arranged 
by  its  proprietor,  and  Gilbert  observed  that  the 
proprietor  opened  and  flattened  out  two  London 
morning  papers. 

"  Goot-morgen,  sare,"  said  Ford  respectfully. 
"You  dake  goffee  or  tea,  eh  ?  " 

"Coffee,  Fritz." 

"You  sleep  well,  eh  ?  " 

"  No,  Fritz,"  said  Gilbert.  "I  slept  badly.  I 
began  to  think;  and  to  think,  you  know,  is  always 


222 


fatal  to  a  night's  rest.  Ask  the  head  waiter, 
will  you,  where  I  can  buy  a  good  bouquet." 

A  few  large  spots  of  rain  splashed  lazily  on  the 
cobble-stones  as  Gilbert  went  out  to  the  market 
in  quest  of  flowers.  The  trams  with  a  bright 
brass  bell  in  front  were  running  round  the  town 
from  the  Rhine  to  the  Moselle  Station,  but  he 
preferred  to  walk. 

"I  forgot  to  buy  that  Daily  Chronicle"  he  ex- 
claimed to  himself.  "  I  must  get  it  when  I 
return." 

He  looked  at  the  board  outside  the  Cobhnzer 
Zeitung  office,  and  felt  surprised  to  find  that  the 
news  blue-pencilled  upon  it  was  not  of  his  engage- 
ment to  Gertrude  Brentford,  but  a  mere  everyday 
item  announcing  the  assassination  of  a  Bulgarian 
statesman.  In  the  market  he  caused  such  intense 
commotion  by  demanding  the  best  bouquet  the 
crowded  little  space  could  furnish,  that  he  ran 
some  danger  of  being  smothered  by  the  offerings 
of  enormous  ladies,  whose  figures  were  rather 
more  lumpy  than  the  average  sculptor  conceives 
to  belong  to  Flora.  He  pencilled  on  a  card, 
"With  all  my  love,"  and  walking  down  the 
Mainzer  Chaussee  left  the  bouquet  at  the  Villa 
Hermosa,  with  a  message  to  the  effect  that  he 


223 


would  call  again  later.  The  voice  of  Miss  Camp- 
belltown,  singing  merrily  as  she  descended  the 
staircase,  made  him  hurry  incontinently  away. 

"I'm  going  to  have  a  bath,'*  said  Mr. 
Ford. 

He  was  in  tweeds  and  was  standing  at  the 
entrance  to  the  small  Bad  attached  to  the  bridge 
of  boats  on  the  Ehrenbreitstein  side.  It  was 
odd  to  notice  how  completely  (despite  the  domi- 
noes of  black  whiskers)  the  man  was  able  to  put 
off  the  German  waiter  with  the  dress  suit. 
•  "  It  is  terribly  close,"  he  added. 

"Good  idea!"  cried  Gilbert.  "I'll  do  the 
same.  I've  walked  to  and  from  the  Villa  Her- 
mosa,  and " 

"You  have  been  there  this  morning  ?  " 

"A  friend  of  mine,  Mrs.  Brentford,  has  rented 
it  for  a  month  or  two.  I  spend  most  of  my  time 
there." 

There  was  a  roll  of  drums  from  the  skies  that 
seemed  almost  to  prepare  one  for  a  shrill  march 
from  fifes. 

"Oh!"  repeated  Mr.  Ford  thoughtfully. 
"You  spend  most  of  your  time  there.  But 
Miss — Miss  Reade  is  not  there,  is  she  ? " 

"  Miss  Reade,"   said  Gilbert,    with  some    fri- 


224 


gidity  of  manner — "  Miss  Reade,  as  a  matter  of 
fact,  is  not  there.  Miss  Reade  is  in  town." 

"  Charming  young  person  !  " 

"Ye-es.  Yes,  she  is.  Oh,  yes,  certainly.  I 
should  think  she  will  marry  very  well  some  day. 
She  is  clever,  and  she  is " 

"  But  excuse  me  !  I  understood  that  you  were 
engaged  to  her  ?" 

"Did  you?"  said  Gilbert  airily.  "There 
must  have  been  some  mistake." 

"Evidently,"  said  Mr.  Ford,  with  sudden 
gravity  of  manner.  "  Will  you  wait  for  me,  if  you 
come  out  first  ?  I  want  to  speak  to  you  on  rather 
an  important  subject.  We  can  walk  along  this 
side  of  the  river  and  cross  by  the  little  steam- 
boat. How  long  shall  you  be  ?  " 

A  good  plunge  into  the  delicious  cold  water 
did  Gilbert  a  great  deal  of  good.  After  all,  as  he 
argued  with  himself,  after  all  one  often  feels  a 
sensation  of  impending  evil,  and  the  evil  so  rarely 
arrives.  He  was  to  lunch  at  the  Villa  Hermosa 
at  one  o'clock,  and  there  would  be  the  gratifica- 
tion of  feeling  that  he  was  master  in  embryo  of 
the  house;  that  next  year,  if  he  and  Gertrude 
were  to  come  here,  it  would  be  his  duty  to  assist 
his  agreeable  wife  in  dispensing  hospitalities. 


225 

He  thought,  as  he  rubbed  himself  into  a  ruddy 
condition  and  redressed,  that  it  would  be  rather 
a  kind  thing  for  him  to  ask  poor  Bradley  Webbe, 
and  Gertrude  could  ask  Kittie. 

"  Really,"  said  Gilbert  generously  to  the 
warped,  undecided  slip  of  looking-glass,  "really, 
one  ought  to  try  to  do  some  good  in  the  world." 

Mr.  Ford  was  seated  on  the  wooden  rail  of  the 
bridge,  swinging  his  stick  in  a  thoughtful  way 
and  humming  softly.  He  slipped  down  and 
took  Gilbert's  arm,  and  the  two  strolled  on. 

"Can  you  spare  ten  minutes,  Mr.  Gilbert?" 
he  asked. 

"Twenty." 

"Ten  will  do.     Perhaps  two  will  do." 

"The  shortest  stories  are  sometimes  the 
best,"  said  Gilbert,  "if  only  there  be  incident 
enough." 

"  I  am  not  sure  whether  there  is  enough  in- 
cident to  suit  you.  There  is  a  Miss  Campbell- 
town  staying  at  the  Villa  Hermosa,  I  think." 

"Journalist  girl.  Sings  a  good  deal  and 
always  sings  wrongly.  Kind  of  girl  who  will 
make  some  man  happy  by  not  marrying  him." 

"And   a   Miss    Howson." 

"Not  a  bad  little  girl.  Her  father's  a 
15 


226 


bore,  but  we  shall  all  be  bores  when  we  are 
old  enough." 

"And  the  others  ?" 

"Well,  there's  a  minor  artist  chap — more 
minor  than  artist,  I  think — who,  if  he  only  goes 
on  increasing  in  size  at  the  present  rate  of 
progress  will,  I  think,  eventually  be  able  to  make 
a  very  good  income  in  another  way.  And  old 
Howson,  as  I  said,  is  a  man  with  a  grievance 
that  has  grown  since  its  birth  to  such  an  extent 
that  now  it  fills  a  room.  Taken  altogether, 
though,  they  are  a  very  amusing  set,  and  I — I 
enjoy  myself  there  a  good  deal.  Every-body  is 
very  attentive." 

"And  you  ?    You  are  attentive  to " 

"Myself,"  said  Gilbert  promptly. 

"The  only  lady  remaining  is  Mrs. — Mrs. 
Brentford." 

"Yes,"  said  Gilbert,  flushing.  (It  is  a  tire- 
some habit  of  youth  to  flush  at  inconvenient 
moments.  Even  the  gifted  people  who  write 
"Answers  to  Correspondents"  in  the  weekly 
journals  are  helpless,  when  asked  for  a  remedy.) 
"Yes,  Mrs.  Brentford." 

"  Do  you  admire  her  ?  " 

"Well,"  said  Gilbert,    "it's  a  very  odd  thing 


227 


you  should  ask  that  question.  I  admire  her  so 
much,  and  my  good  fortune  is  so  great,  that  I — I 
am  going  to  marry  her." 

There  was  a  pause. 

"  Come,  Ford  !     Congratulate  me." 

"I  don't  think  I  will,"  said  Mr.  Ford  slowly. 
"Not  just  yet." 

"Well,  that's  frank,  anyway." 

"I  shall  have  to  be  even  more  frank  than  that, 
I  fear.  You  know  already  a  good  deal  more  of 
my  life — of  my  lives — than  any  one;  I'm  afraid  I 
must  tell  you  some  more.  I  dare  say  you  look 
upon  me  as  a  crank;  as  a  man  who  is  only 
removed  by  a  few  short  steps  from  lunacy." 

"On  the  contrary,"  declared  Gilbert,  "lam 
not  sure  that  you  are  not  the  sanest  man  I  ever 
met." 

"  Glad  to  hear  you  say  that.  I  am  a  selfish 
man,  I  confess.  I  have  always  done  the  thing 
that  gave  me  greatest  satisfaction,  and  as  I  have 
always  had  plenty  of  money,  .there  has  been  no 
good  reason  for  changing  my  procedure.  If  I 
had  had  to  earn  my  living,  circumstances  would 
have  forced  me  into  something  like  convention- 
ality." 

"You  may  have  your  faults,  but  you  are  cer- 


228 


tainly  not  conventional.  At  least,  not  often. 
I  was  amazed,  though,  to  hear  you  say  that  you 
were  married.  That  was  a  terribly  common- 
place action.  Such  a  lot  of  men  do  it." 

"I  am  afraid  it  was  a  blunder.  I  saw  that 
soon  afterward.  It  was  a  blunder  for  which,  as 
we  were  saying  last  night,  I,  and  not  my  wife, 
was  wholly  responsible.  I  could  have  remedied 
the  situation  by  dying,  but " 

"That's  the  last  thing  that  one  thinks  of  doing." 

"  I  suppose,  despite  what  I  sometimes  say, 
that  I  am  rather  fond  of  being  alive.  One  knows 
at  any  rate  what  this  world  is  like.  And  I  must 
confess,  although  I  have  grumbled,  that,  by 
taking  a  lot  of  trouble,  I  have  managed  to  enjoy 
life  since  fairly  well.  And  now  I  must  try  to  tell 
you  something  that  affects  yourself." 

"I  don't  think  you  can,"  said  Gilbert  airily. 
"Is  it  any  thing  about  the  Budget ? " 

"Nothing  about  the  Budget." 

11  Any  thing  wrong  about  the  Hip  Hip  Hurrah 
Company  ? " 

"A  company  with  so  exuberant  a  title  could 
scarcely,  I  should  say,  go  wrong.  The  informa- 
tion I  have  to  give  you  is  of  a  more  personal 
nature." 


229 


He  laid  his  hand  on  the  young  man's  shoulder. 

"  Fire  away  !  "  said  Gilbert. 

"  I  told  you  that  my  wife  was  at  Coblentz.  I 
hinted  that  I  did  not  want  to  see  her,  and  that  I 
was  sure  she  did  not  want  to  see  me.  Now  then, 
brace  up,  Gilbert." 

He  held  Gilbert's  arm  somewhat  tighter. 

"My  wife  is  Mrs. 'Brent Don't  stagger 

like  that,  man — Mrs.  Brentford." 

The  great  drops  of  rain  again  came  languidly 
down  from  the  heavy  sky,  and  one  splashed 
ludicrously  on  Gilbert's  nose. 

"Don't  be  a  —  a  d fool!"  he  cried 

nervously. 

"I'm  not.  I'm  quite  serious.  I  should  never 
have  told  you,  if  it  had  not  been  that " 

"But  her  husband  was  drowned.  She  had  a 
letter  from  the  Consul  at " 

"I  know;  I  wrote  it  myself."  Mr.  Ford 
laughed  oddly.  "But  it — it  wasn't  true.  lean 
easily  give  you  proofs  of  the  truth  of  what  I 
say." 

The  restaurant  over  the  way  danced  a  con- 
fused, preposterous  dance  in  the  eyes  of  Gilbert. 
He  struck  Ford  stupidly  on  the  shoulder,  and 
Ford  gripped  him  by  the  arm. 


230 


"You  see,  it  is  this  way,"  explained  Ford; 
"I  should  never  have  dreamed  of  interfering, 
had  it  not  been " 

"Don't  say  another  word,"  cried  Gilbert 
hoarsely;  "let  me  get  back  to  the  hotel  and — 
and  think." 

They  embarked  on  the  small  steamer  and 
crossed  the  river.  Gilbert 'stared  steadily  before 
him,  endeavoring  with  no  success  to  re-assort  his 
thoughts,  and  neither  of  the  two  spoke.  They 
had  to  wait  while  one  of  the  Rhine  steamers 
passed  down  to  the  pier  where  passengers  em- 
bark for  Cologne,  and  Gilbert  chafed,  with 
apparently  no  reason  in  the  world,  at  the 
delay. 

"  Give  me  a  paper,"  he  said  to  the  man  at  the 
small  book-stall. 

"  Tib  Bis  ? "  asked  the  German  book-stall  man, 
offering  a  green-covered  periodical. 

"A  newspaper,  confound  you  !  A  London 
daily  paper." 

The  man  found  a  Standard  and  took  thirty 
pfennigs  for  it,  and  Gilbert,  cramming  it  into 
his  pocket,  strode  across  the  roadway  to  the 
hotel.  At  the  entrance  he  steadied  himself  and 
looked  round. 


231 


"  Did  you  post  that  letter  last  night?"  he 
demanded  brusquely. 

"  I  bosted  it,"  said  Mr,  Ford,  in  his  most  re- 
spectful German  waiter  manner.  Another  waiter 
was  near.  "  I  bosted  it,  sare,  immediate  that  you 
to  me  handed  it.  It  is  nearly  in  London  alretty." 

Gilbert  stumbled  upstairs  to  his  room  and 
threw  open  wide  the  window.  On  the  table  was 
a  square  little  envelope  addressed  in  a  firm,  de- 
cided handwriting  that  was  not  unfamiliar.  He 
was  about  to  tear  it  up,  when  he  stopped. 

"  I  may  as  well  see  what  she  says,  perhaps. 
Ford  won't  mind — if  he  doesn't  know." 

The  letter  inside  had  the  monogram  "  G.  B. " 
in  the  corner,  and  the  printed  heading  "Friday." 

"  An  unlucky  day,"  remarked  Gilbert  grimly. 

"Mv  DEAREST  GILBERT: 

"  Why  did  my  dear  boy  not  present  his  charm- 
ing flowers  in  person  ?  I  was  waiting  to  see  you: 
waiting  to  hear  you  tell  me  that  there  is  such  a 
place  as  the  Rhein  Anlagen;  that  there  is  such 
a  lover  as  Gilbert  Gilbert;  that  it  is  true  that 
Gertrude  Brentford  is  the  happiest  woman  on 
the  Continent  of  Europe. 

"  Be  punctual  for  lunch.     I  am  too  joyful  to 


232 


write.     I  only  want  to  see  you  and  to  hear  your 
dear  voice. 

"Yours  now  and  always, 

"  GERTRUDE." 

Gilbert  sat  down  in  the  low  rocking-chair  and 
laughed  foolishly.  He  laughed  until  a  catch 
came  into  his  throat,  and  then  he  felt  that  if  he 
had  not  been  a  man  he  would  like  to  have  cried. 

He  rang  the  bell. 

"I  say,  Gilbert,"  Mr.  Ford,  in  his  waiter's 
dress  again,  closed  the  door  carefully  before  he 
spoke — "I  say,  don't  let  this  upset  you,  you 
know.  I  know,  of  course,  that  I  am  a  good  deal 
to  blame,  but  you  will  see  that  I  had  no  other 
course  to  pursue.  Here  is  an  old  letter  of  hers 
I  have  brought  to  show  you,  and  here  is  a  photo- 
graph of  our  two  selves  taken  at  Neuchatel. 
And  although  I  am  most  anxious  not  to  be 
bothered,  still,  if  you  insist  upon  it,  I  will  drive 
down  to  the  Villa  this  afternoon,  and " 

"I  shall  not  go  there  again." 

"  Perhaps  that  would  be  the  better  plan. 
I'll  write  a  note,  if  you  like,  to  her  that  will 
explain  every  thing.  Then  I  shall  get  down  to 
Marseilles  and  cross  over  to  Algiers." 


233 

"  Your  behavior  is  very  rough  upon  her." 

"I  don't  quite  see  that,"  said  Ford,  with  a 
touch  of  obstinacy.  "  She  has  been  a  good  deal 
happier  than  she  would  have  been  if  I  had  stayed 
on.  She  has  plenty  of  money,  and  unless  she 
invests  it  stupidly " 

"I  shall  get  back  to  town,"  interrupted  Gil- 
bert. "  This  place  is  like  hell  to  me." 

"  It  will  be  cooler  than  hell,"  said  Ford,  look- 
ing out  of  the  window,  "after  the  rain.  And 
after  all,  you  still  have  your  excellent  prospects, 
and  in  a  little  while  you  will  have  forgotten  all 
about  this." 

"You're  a  queer  kind  of  Enoch  Arden, 
Ford." 

"I'm  afraid  I  am.  What  train  are  you  going 
to  catch  ? " 

"The  first." 

"I'll  go  and  get  your  bill.  We  shall  both  of 
us  be  much  amused  at  this  incident  in  the  days 
to  come." 

"Possibly.  Just  now  it  seems  to  me  to  lack 
several  of  the  cardinal  elements  of  fun." 

Gilbert  packed  his  portmanteau  and  took  up 
the  Standard.  He  noticed  with  satisfaction  that 
Surrey  was  doing  well;  that  the  batting  averages 


234 


were  keeping  up,  and  the  ground  having  been 
rather  dry,  the  crack  bowlers  had  been  able  to 
do  very  little.  There  is  something  marvellously 
cheering  to  the  average  man  in  seeing  a  record 
of  centuries.  Gilbert  turned  over  the  paper  and 
glanced  at  the  police  intelligence.  A  special 
paragraph  near  to  the  column  was  headed: 

"SERIOUS  CHARGE  AGAINST  DIRECTORS 

"The  sitting  Alderman  at  the  Mansion  House 
will  have  an  important  case  before  him  to-day. 
The  directors  of  the  Hip  Hip  Hurrah  Mines  will 
be  charged  on  warrants  with  conspiring  to 
induce  a  post-office  official  to  issue  a  forged 
cablegram  purporting  to  come  from  South 
Africa.  The  proceedings  have  been  taken 
hastily  for  the  reason  that  it  was  feared  some 
difficulty  might  arise  in  the  serving  of  warrants. 
As  it  is,  two  of  the  directors  are  abroad,  and 
they  will  probably  remain  there  until  the  case 
is  decided. 

"The  Hip  Hip  Hurrah  Company  was  formed 
in " 

He  looked  hastily  at  the  end  of  the  paragraph. 
A  list  of  the  directors  was  there  given,  and  one 


235 

line  seemed  to  stand  out  as  though  the  words 
were  being  shrieked: 

"  Mr.  Gilbert  Gilbert,  journalist,  of  84 
Doughty  Street,  Bloomsbury." 

He  went  to  the  table,  and  with  a  trembling 
hand  poured  out  a  glass  of  water.  When  he  had 
drained  that,  he  found  with  difficulty — for  the 
light  in  the  room  seemed  strangely  dim — a  time- 
table. A  train  left  the  Moselle  Station  in 
twenty  minutes  ;  and  travelling  by  way  of 
Treves,  Luxemburg,  and  Brussels  he  could 
reach  Charing  Cross  at  five-forty-five  the  fol- 
lowing morning. 

On  his  way  down  stairs  he  encountered  Ford. 

"  I  am  going,"  he  said  thickly,  "  at  once.  At 
once.  Write  to  her  and  explain.  Pay  the  bill 
with  this." 

There  was  no  one  else  on  the  landing,  and 
Ford  drew  the  agitated  young  man  aside. 

"You  are  doing  quite  the  right  thing,"  he  said 
kindly.  "I  think  I  will  call  at  the  Villa  this 
evening  and  see  her.  I  hate  a  scene,  especially 
where  women  are  playing  in  it,  but  I  must 
endure  it — for  once.  Good  luck  to  you!" 


236 


He  took  Gilbert's  portmanteau  with  a  change 
of  manner. 

"The  hotel  'bus,"  speaking  loudly,  "he  go  to 
start  di-rectly.  Al-low  me,  if  you  blease." 

Gilbert  stepped  into  the  'bus.  There  were  two 
other  passengers;  an  obviously  new  husband 
and  an  obviously  new  wife,  both  in  the  best  of 
spirits. 

"What  a  happy,  happy  place  Coblentz  is, 
Reginald.  I  should  think  nobody  was  ever  sad 
here;  should  you,  dear?" 

The  new  husband  looked  nervously  at  Gilbert 
and  said  that  he  supposed  not. 

"  I  shall  always  look  upon  Coblentz  as  a  town 
of  joy,"  said  the  new  wife  enthusiastically. 
"Whenever  I  see  the  word  in  print  it  will  always 
make  me  good-tempered.  And  if " 

"Don't  talk  so  loudly,  sweetest." 

"My  dear  Reggie  !  I'm  sure  I  wasn't  talking 
loudly.  What  a  cross  boy  you  are  !  You  say 
such  unkind  things  sometimes " 

"Sweetest!  I  never  mean  them,  if  I  do. 
You  are  always  the  best  and  prettiest " 

The  new  husband  patted  the  cheek  of  the  new 
wife.  Gilbert  looked  out  of  the  window,  and 
they  kissed  furtively. 


237 


"Naughty  boy!  My  hat's  all  crooked  now, 
I'm  sure.  Put  it  straight,  you  sad,  sad  scamp!" 

The  sad,  sad  scamp  did  as  he  was  bid  and 
received  a  mock-warning  shake  of  the  head  from 
the  new  wife  for  his  shocking  behavior. 

"Let  me  wave  my  hand  to  the  Rhine,  Reggie 
dear.  Let  me  say — oh,  now  we're  off." 

The  manager  on  the  doorstep  bent  respect- 
fully to  the  departing  guests;  Ford  behind  him 
waved  his  hand  to  Gilbert.  A  detachment  of 
mounted  soldiers  cantered  past;  their  accoutre- 
ments glistening,  despite  the  absence  of  the  sun. 
The  giant  drops  of  rain  once  more  began  to 
patter,  striking  the  roof  of  the  small,  jolting 
omnibus  with  decided  taps. 

"Well,"  said  the  new  wife  contentedly,  "it 
doesn't  matter  now  if  it  does  rain.  It's  been 
fine  all  through  the  honeymoon." 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE  train  pursued  with  ardor  and  pertinacity 
the  elusive  Moselle  between  Coblentz  and 
Treves,  and  Gilbert,  by  dint  of  persistently  keep- 
ing his  bare  head  at  the  open  window,  managed 
to  divert  his  thoughts  to  some  extent  from  the 
dire  prospects  that  awaited  him  in  London.  To 
some  extent  only.  Nothing  could  remove  that 
leaden  feeling  of  dismay  that  stuck  somewhere 
just  below  his  throat.  Forcing  itself  steadily 
through  the  scene  of  a  broad,  winding  river  with 
vines  growing  in  steps  on  the  high,  green  hills 
beyond,  came  now  and  again,  in  the  manner  of  a 
dissolving  view  entertainment,  a  scene  of  the 
little  square  Justice  Room  at  the  Mansion 
House,  with  sharp  solicitors  in  frock-coats,  a 
shuffling  crowd  at  the  back,  kept  in  order  by  the 
precise,  footman-like  jailer,  and  on  the  high- 
backed  chair  beneath  the  sword,  the  queer  old 
Alderman,  cracking  old  jokes  with  a  broad 
Scotch  accent.  This  scene  gave  way  to  one  at 
the  Villa  Hermosa  with  Mr.  Brentford,  other- 


239 


wise  Ford,  explaining  to  Gertrude  Brentford; 
and  this  in  its  turn  faded,  to  be  replaced  by  a 
picture  of  Kittie  Reade  opening  the  letter  from 
Coblentz  and  shrieking. 

Gilbert  closed  his  eyes.  He  cared  for  this 
last  picture  the  least  of  all. 

"Will  you  'low  me  to  offer  you  a  cracker," 
asked  the  white-haired  American  lady  opposite. 

She  handed  him  a  paper  bag,  and  Gilbert  took 
a  cracker  and  thanked  her  politely.  Her  hus- 
band was  asleep  in  the  other  corner,  and  her 
daughter,  in  a  violet  veil,  was  writing,  as  well  as 
the  movement  of  the  train  would  permit,  to — 
judging  from  the  look  upon  her  face — some  lucky 
youth  in  the  United  States. 

"  Don't  speak  of  it,"  said  the  old  American 
lady  volubly,  "don't  speak  of  it.  I  always 
think  it  passes  the  time  'long  so  much  more 
pleasant  to  talk  to  your  fellow-passengers.  I 
can't  sleep  in  the  train." 

"I  also,"  said  Gilbert  wofully,  "do  not 
anticipate  being  able  to  sleep.  I  have  a  good 
deal  to  worry  about." 

"Come  out  of  that  !"  said  the  old  American 
lady  cheerfully. 

"  I  wish  I  could." 


240 


"Why,  you've  got  every  thing  in  your  favor," 
she  said.  "  You've  on'y  got  to  hustle." 

"I've  tried  that,"  said  poor  Gilbert,  "and  it 
doesn't  seem  to  answer." 

"  P'raps  you  ain't  hustled  enough." 

"I'm  afraid  I  have  hustled  a  little  too  much. 
I've  had  a  good  deal  of  experience,  and  I've  tried 
to  use  my  knowledge  of  the  world,  but  somehow 
or  other " 

"  It  '11  dry  straight,  I  shouldn't  wonder,"  said 
the  old  lady. 

"I  don't  see  how  it  can.  It's  as  crooked  as  it 
can  be,  now." 

The  daughter  looked  up,  from  under  the  vio- 
let veil  folded  just  above  her  eyes,  with  some 
curiosity. 

"Finished  your  letter  to  Peter  Thornhill, 
Julie?" 

Julie  said  No,  Ma.  She'd  got  such  an  awful 
lot  to  tell  him,  added  Julie  frankly. 

"Engaged,"  whispered  the  old  lady  confiden- 
tially, "to  as  good  a  chap  over  in  Chicargo  as 
ever  breathed  the  American  air." 

"  Well  done  !  "  said  Gilbert. 

"She's  a  bit  dif'cult  to  manage,  though," 
went  on  the  mother,  still  in  a  whisper.  "It  '11 


241 


be  a  rare  good  thing  for  Julie,  you  see,  and  the 
only  way  we  can  keep  her  up  to  the  mark  is  by 
saying  things  agenst  him." 

"Against  him?" 

"  Fact  !  It's  only  been  necessary  to  say  in 
Rome,  f'r  instance,  '  There's  goes  a  young  fel- 
low like  Peter  Thornhill — only  better  lookin','  and 
she'd  flare  up,  bless  you,  Julie  would,  and  go  off 
and  write  a  nice  lovin'  letter  to  Pete  by  the  next 
mail.  Our  Chicargo  girls  are  very  independent, 
don't  you  see." 

"  It's  a  good  thing — for  them." 

The  father  moved  in  his  corner  of  the  com- 
partment, and  put  his  large,  white  felt  hat 
straight. 

"In  Chicargo,  sir,"  he  said,  rubbing  his  eyes, 
"we  have  houses  seventeen  stories  high,  and  a 
weather " 

"Go  to  sleep,  Larry  !" 

And  the  father  obediently  went  to  sleep  again. 

The  old  lady's  chatter  certainly  assisted  to 
shorten  the  journey.  She  was  an  entertaining 
old  lady,  and  she  had  been  to  the  Tower  of 
London,  and  to  Stoke  Pogis,  and  to  Windsor, 
and  to  several  other  places  which  are  names  only 
to  most  Englishmen.  When  Gilbert  obtained 
16 


242 


fruit  for  her  at  Namur,  and  a  huge  thick  slab 
of  gingerbread  for  the  daughter,  she  awoke  her 
husband  to  find  one  of  his  cards. 

The  great  friendliness  of  the  three,  the  frank 
descriptions  of  Europe  by  the  daughter,  the  brag 
about  Chicago  by  the  father,  and  the  general 
volubility  of  the  mother  constituted  the  best 
treatment  for  Gilbert's  depression  that  could 
possibly  have  been  devised. 

"Well,  /reckon  that  Cologne  Cathedral's  one 
of  the  biggest  frauds  ever  arranged  on  this  earth. 
Why,  we  was  munching  something,  Mar  and  me, 
and  I  was  jest  lookin'  through  the  opera-glasses 
at  the  altar  up  at  the  end,  and  talking  to  Mar, 
when  a  beadle  kind  of  feller  he  come  up  and " 

"You  travel  the  hull  distance,  sir,  from  New 
York  to  'Frisco  in  the  most  per — feet  comfort 
that  you  cain  possibly  imagine.  You  have  on 
board  the  car  a  library  and  a  barber  and  a  bath, 
and  I  cain't  tell  you  what  you  don't  have.  Yes, 
sir  !  And  there's  no  fuss  nor  nothin'  'bout  your 
baggage,  you  onderstand  me.  When  you  leave 
the  ho — tel  you  jest  go  to  the  ho — tel  clerk,  and 
you  say,  '  Mister,  I  want  you '  " 

"And  we've  enjoyed  the  six  months  purfectly. 
Purfectly.  It's  been  a  well-managed  tower, — I 


243 


will  say  that  for  Larry, — and  it's  learned  us 
things  that  we'd  no  idea  of  before,  and  we've 
picked  up  bargains  in  Parrus  that  '11  simply  make 
some  of  the  old  back  numbers — friends  of  Julie's 
— turn  magenta  color.  And  if  you  ever  find 
yourself  within  a  hundred  mile  of  Chicargo,  and 
you  don't  come  to  see  us,  why,  we'll  never  for- 
give you." 

Gilbert  said  good-by  to  the  three  at  the 
Brussels  Nord  Station  with  genuine  regret.  If 
he  had  known  that  from  Brussels  to  Calais  he 
was  to  be  alone,  if  he  had  foreseen  the  agony  of 
thought  that  his  isolation  would  bring  to  him,  he 
would  have  been  tempted  to  offer  them  untold 
gold  to  continue  the  journey  with  him. 

It  was  almost  a  grim  satisfaction  to  him  at 
Calais,  about  midnight,  to  find  that  the  Channel 
was  rough.  The  sea  out  beyond  the  harbor 
made  white  little  cliffs  of  water,  that  disappeared 
and  reappeared  in  another  place;  even  within 
the  harbor  there  was  movement.  Most  of  the 
passengers  went  discreetly  below;  a  few  only 
remained  on  the  deck  of  the  Empress.  One,  a 
blue-capped,  tweed-coated  little  figure,  turned  up 
the  collar  of  her  coat,  thrust  her  hands  deep  into 
her  pockets,  and  strode  up  to  the  end.  She 


244 


asked  a  French  sailor  for  a  tarpaulin,  and  Gil- 
bert's heart  gave  a  big  jump  as  he  heard  her 
voice. 

"  Kittie  ! " 

The  name  came  as  an  involuntary  ejaculation. 

"  My  dear,  dear  Gilbert  !  This  is  kind  of 
Providence  !  I  brought  mother  over  to  Calais 
for  a  three  days'  trip,  and  we  are  just  getting 
back.  She  is  down  below."  (Kittie  took  his 
arm  with  her  old^ffectionate  manner.)  "And 
why  haven't  you  written  to  me,  you  dreadful 
person  ?  Have  you  been  so  busy  getting  local 
color — you  are  very  brown — that  you  have  not 
had  time?" 

"  I  did  write,  Kittie,  but  you  will  not  get  the 
letter  perhaps  until  you  reach  home.  I  think 
that  I  ought  to  tell  you  what  I  have  said  in  it." 

"If  you  dare  tell  me  a  single  word,"  she  cried, 
placing  her  gloved  hand  over  his  lips,  "  I  will  call 
the  captain." 

"But,  Kittie " 

"Sir  !  will  you  obey  me  or  will  you  not  ?" 

The  bell  rang,  the  last  mail  bag  slid  down  the 
plank,  and  was  passed  along  to  be  buried  in  the 
deep  hole  amidships.  The  board-covering  to  the 
deep  hole  was  placed  in  position;  the  tarpaulin 


245  ' 

covering  was  fixed  over  it.  The  Empress  bumped 
the  Calais  landing-stage  once,  as  though  it  were 
playing  a  children's  touched-you-last  game,  and 
steamed  slowly  out  into  the  perturbed  Channel. 
The  lights  held  by  the  men  on  the  landing  stage 
waved;  the  sailors  on  board  hurried  below  in 
search  of  early  victims  to  mal  de  mer,  and  then 
suddenly  the  skies  opened.  The  rain,  pent  up 
for  hours,  came  down  exultantly,  battering  the 
Channel,  lightening  the  heaviness  of  the  atmos- 
phere; amusing  with  its  enterprise  the  tweed- 
coated  little  woman  standing  under  cover  on 
deck  in  a  place  where  she  and  Gilbert  could 
stand  only  by  pressing  closely  to  each  other. 

"This  is  simply  perfect,"  cried  Kittie  Reade 
delightedly.  "Doesn't  it  make  you  feel  very 
happy,  Gilbert  ?  You  are  a  good  sailor,  I  know." 

"I'm  a  good  sailor,"  confessed  Gilbert,  "but 
I  am  beginning  to  think  that  I  am  rather  a  bad 
man." 

"Farceur!"  cried  Kittie.  "Tell  me  whom 
you  met  at  Coblentz." 

Gilbert  gave  the  information  without  details  of 
further  circumstances. 

"And  you  did  not  run  off  with  Mrs.  Brentford, 
or  marry  her?" 


246 


Gilbert  said  gravely  that  his  answer  to  the 
honorable  member  must  be  "  No  "  to  each  of 
these  questions. 

"I'm  glad  you  haven't  enjoyed  yourself 
much,"  said  Kittie,  hugging  his  arm  a  little 
tighter.  "  London  was  hideous  without  you. 
That's  why  I  persuaded  mamma " 

"  Who  is,  I  hope,  quite  well  ?  " 

"She  is  lying  quite  still  down  below  with  a 
dictionary  tied  round  her  waist,  and  she  begged 
me  on  no  account  to  come  near  her,  or  to  say  a 
word  to  her,  until  we  reached  Dover.  If  I  hadn't 
met  you,  dear,  I  should  have  been  lonely.  As  it 
is " 

"  I  wonder  whether  we  shall  either  of  us  ever 
be  really  happy,"  remarked  Gilbert. 

"Good  gracious  !  "  she  cried,  "I  had  no  idea 
that  Germany  had  that  effect  on  one.  I  don't 
like  your  change  of  air,  sir." 

"  I  must  get  you  to  forgive  me,  Kittie.  I  am 
not  quite  sure  that  I  know  what  I  am  talking 
about." 

"Go  a  little  further,"  she  said  encouragingly; 
"there's  a  capital  opening  for  a  flattering  re- 
mark. You  should  add  that  the  sight  of  me  has 
turned  your  head." 


247 


"  I  didn't  think  of  that." 

"This  is  a  hard  world,"  complained  Kittie, 
looking  out  at  the  sea.  The  Empress  seemed 
undecided  on  the  respective  merits  of  pitch  and 
toss,  and  was  for  the  present  doing  both.  "You 
not  only  have  to  make  compliments  yourself,  but 
you  have  to  suggest  them  to  other  people." 

"If  you  knew  all,  you  wouldn't " 

The  Empress  gave  a  tremendous  pitch  into  the 
irritated  sea.  A  voice,  belonging  to  a  drenched 
lady  below,  screamed.  The  Empress  righted  her- 
self, and  proceeded  penitently  for  some  minutes 
in  a  demure  manner. 

"I  think  I  ought  to  tell  you,  Kittie,  exactly 
what  is  happening.  And  yet,  somehow,  I  haven't 
the  courage  to." 

A  wave  came  spraying  across  the  deck,  and  the 
two  moved  well  back. 

"I  like  the  scent  of  the  sea,  don't  you,  Gil- 
bert? There's  something  so — so  honest  about 
it.  I  say  'honest'  because  it  is  the  trait  that  I 
most  admire.  I  think,  dear,  that  your  straight- 
forwardness and  your  honesty  make  me  like  you 
even  more  than " 

"  The  rain  is  stopping,"  said  Gilbert  hurriedly; 
"  let's  go  out  on  deck." 


248 


"I  declare,"  cried  Kittle,  with  atone  of  comic 
annoyance,  "  that  I'll  never  say  any  thing  nice  to 
you  again." 

"I  am  afraid,"  said  Gilbert,  under  his  breath, 
"  that  you  never  will." 

The  Empress  ran  across  from  Calais  to  Dover 
in  just  over  an  hour  and  a  half.  Dover  at  2 
o'clock  A.  M.  is  not  overflowing  with  gayety,  and 
white-faced  passengers,  emerging  from  below 
after  a  tempestuous  voyage,  find  little  in  the 
sleeping  harbor  and  the  misty  castle  on  the 
white  cliffs  to  cheer  them.  Mrs.  Reade,  quite 
buoyant  at  having  escaped  illness,  was  facetious 
at  the  expense  of  yellow-visaged  travellers,  glad 
to  see  Gilbert,  and  declared  then,  with  one  of 
her  sudden  changes  of  manner,  that  she  did  hope 
she'd  never  be  silly  enough  again  to  go  journey- 
ing about  in  trains,  or  on  boats,  and  what  not  at 
her  time  of  life.  Gilbert  saw  the  versatile  old 
lady  and  Kittie  into  a  "ladies'  compartment," 
and  found  for  himself  a  smoking. 

At  Charing  Cross,  in  the  gray,  early  morning, 
he  hailed  a  four-wheeler,  controlled  by  a  fiery- 
faced  cabman. 

"What  a  good  fellow  you  are  !"  said  Kittie 
appreciatively.  "It  makes  all  the  difference  in 


249 


the  world  to  have  you  near  to  one.  Is  it  too 
early  to  get  a  newspaper  ?  I  have  not  seen  one 
for  three  days,  and  I  always  get  an  idea,  when 
I  am  absent  from  London,  that  the  worst  is 
happening." 

"  I  don't  think  I'd  trouble  about  a  newspaper, 
Kittie;  you'll  want  to  sleep  as  soon  as  you  get 
home." 

"Oh,  dear,  no,  sir;  oh,  no!  I  shall  change 
and  set  to  work  at  once.  Come  up  to-morrow 
morning,  and  let  us  have  a  good  long  walk  in 
Regent's  Park  and  listen  to  the  discontented 
lecturers  up  near  the  Zoo." 

"I  am  not  quite  sure  where  I  shall  be  to- 
morrow. And,  Kittie ! " 

She  stood  with  one  foot  on  the  step  of  the 
four-wheeler.  Mrs.  Reade  within  had  half  closed 
her  eyes. 

("It  don't  matter,"  grumbled  the  fiery-faced 
cabman  to  himself — "  it  don't  matter  what  time 
o'  day  it  is,  young  couples  must  always  take  a 
'ell  of  a  time  a-saying  goo'-by.") 

"  Kittie,  I  am  afraid — I  am  afraid  something 
rather  serious  is  about  to  happen.  I  want  you, 
whatever  happens,  to  think  as  well  as  you  can 
of  me." 


250 

"  I'll  do  my  best,"  said  Kittie  Reade,  laughing. 

"And  you  will  find  a  letter  from  me  at 
home — a  letter  that  I  wrote  from  Coblentz.  I 
want  you  to  destroy  that  letter  without  read- 
ing it." 

("Nah,  then,"  muttered  the  fiery-faced  cab- 
man impatiently,  "nah,  then!  Are  we  going  to 
wite  'ere  all  this  year  ?") 

"I  shouldn't  think  of  doing  so,"  said  Kittie 
decidedly.  "If  you  have  been  more  affec- 
tionate in  that  letter  than  you  meant  to  be, 
I'll  allow  a  slight  discount;  but  I  shall  certainly 
read  it." 

"You  shall  not  read  it!"  cried  Gilbert  excit- 
edly. "I  insist " 

"  I  wouldn't  miss  seeing  the  contents  of  that 
letter  now,"  she  said  firmly,  "  for  all  the  rest  of 
the  years  of  my  life.  And  try  to  come  up  to- 
morrow morning,  Gilbert.  You  have  been  away 
from  town  for  so  many  centuries." 

("'Urry  up,  'urry  up,  there!"  said  the  red- 
faced  cabman;  "'ave  the  argument  out  else- 
where. This  ain't  a  debitin'  society;  this  is  a 
four-wheel  keb.") 

Gilbert  pressed  her  hand,  and  Kittie  looked 
up  at  him  as  young  ladies  do  who  expect  to  be 


251 


kissed;  but  Gilbert  only  stepped  back  and  raised 
his  hat. 

("Thenk  Gawd!"  said  the  cabman  piously. 
"I  shall  be  'ome  at  the  stibles  before  domesd'y 
now,  if  I  try.") 

Gilbert  remained  near  Queen  Eleanor's  statue 
until  the  four-wheeler,  with  a  small  handkerchief 
fluttering  at  the  window,  went  out  of  the  gates 
into  the  empty,  half-awake  Strand.  Then  he 
took  his  portmanteau  and  walked  up  by  Covent 
Garden  Market,  with  its  perfume  of  Kent  and  its 
crowded,  cabbage-leaved  pavements,  to  Doughty 
Street.  He  half-stumbled  upstairs  to  his  rooms, 
and,  falling  into  the  easy  chair,  went  instantly 
to  sleep. 

"Well,  I  dever!"  exclaimed  Ermyntrude. 
The  sun  was  staring  in  on  the  disordered  youth 
when  he  awoke,  with  an  amazement  equalled  by 
that  of  the  small  maid.  "You've  cub  obe  at  last 
thed,  Bister  Gilbert  ?  " 

"I  think  so,"  said  Gilbert,  yawning.  "But, 
really,  Ermyntrude,  I  scarcely  know." 

"  There's  beed  lots  of  callers  'ere  for  you,  sir," 
said  Ermyntrude,  opening  the  window.  "Very 
adxious  to  see  you  they  were,  and  just  a  little 
dasty,  too,  whed  I  told  theb  I  diddet  dow  where 


252 


you  was.  A  gedlebad  with  a  pipe  id  his  bouth 
walked  up  ad  dowd  opposite  for  dearly  all  the 
bordig. " 

"That  was  very  kind  of  him,"  remarked 
Gilbert. 

"The  bissus — she  was  quite  upset  over  it  ;  she 
read  sobethig  id  the  papers  about  you,  ad  she  got 
idto  a  rare  tear  over  it." 

"  What  was  it,  Ermyntrude  ?  " 

"  Oh,  it's  do  use  askig  be"  said  the  small 
servant;  "/  dever  read  the  dewspapers,  bless 
you,  sir.  I've  got  too  buch  to  do  to  bother  by 
head  about  what  other  people  are  doig.  Do  you 
wadt  sobe  hot  water,  sir  ?  " 

"I  should  like  to  shave,  Ermyntrude." 

"You  look  it,  sir,"  said  Ermyntrude  candidly. 
"I'll  get  you  a  good  strog  cup  of  tea,  too ;  that  '11 
pull  you  together." 

"I'm  afraid  it  will  take  more  than  a  cup  of  tea 
to  pull  me  together,"  said  Gilbert  ruefully. 

"Try  two  cups,"  suggested  Ermyntrude. 

The  small  maid  stopped  at  the  doorway  and 
looked  back  at  the  mantle-piece. 

"You  'aved't  oped  your  letters,  sir,"  she  said. 

The  top  letter  was  in  the  writing  of  Bradley 
Webbe,  and  Gilbert  opened  it  first.  Some  of  the 


253 


others   contained   proofs;    one  was  a  fat,    long 
envelope   from  a   magazine. 

"DEAR  GILBERT: 

"This  will,  I  hope,  reach  you  immediately 
upon  your  return  from  Germany.  Events  have 
been  happening  since  your  departure  at  an  ex- 
press rate,  and  I  shall  be  glad  when  they  slow 
down. 

"  Firstly,  I  have  had  my  notice  from  the  Pro- 
prietor. He  had  a  letter  before  him  (he  said) 
which  plainly  pointed  out  my  unfitness  for  the 
post,  and  he  had  thought  it  better  to  ask  me  to 
go  at  once;  he  would  send  a  check  in  lieu  of 
notice. 

"This  was  rather  in  the  nature  of  a  whack 
in  the  eye,  and  I  called  down  to  see  him.  He 
declined  for  the  present  to  show  me  the  letter 
to  which  he  had  referred,  but  promised  that  I 
should  see  it  eventually.  'He  added  that  he  was 
getting  rather  tired  of  the  Budget,  and  he  shook 
hands  with  me  very  warmly. 

"  I  do  not  know  the  name  of  my  successor. 
Come  down  to  the  Budget  office  as  soon  as  you 
return. 

"I  have  not  yet  dared  to  call    at   Regent's 


254 


Park,  and  under  the  new  circumstances  I  cannot 
think  of  doing  so. 

"Yours  always, 

"F.  BRADLEY  WEBBE." 

The  last  letter  on  the  pile — the  pile  had  evi- 
dently been  shuffled  by  the  small  maid — the  last 
letter  was  also  from  Bradley  Webbe. 

"  The  Proprietor  wires  me  that  the  Budget  is 
to  stop  at  once.  I  am  preparing  for  next  week's 
issue  a  valedictory  note,  and  I  scarcely  know 
whether  to  be  glad  or  sorry.  I  am  certainly 
sorry  for  the  man,  whoever  he  was,  who  was  to 
succeed  me. 

"  Sincerely  trust  you  are  not  affected  by  this 
Hip  Hip  Hurrah  swindle.  I  know  that  you 
bought  some  shares  in  it." 


CHAPTER  XV 

IT  is  a  notorious  fact,  and  one  known  to  all 
men,  that  a  hand  which  trembles  is  no  hand  for 
shaving.  Gilbert  had  all  the  average  man's  dis- 
inclination to  be  at  the  mercy  of  a  barber  for  a 
space  of  minutes,  and  to  have,  in  that  space,  soap 
dabbed  in  his  eye,  conversation  poured  into  his 
ear,  and  bottles  of  impossible  liquids  for  making 
the  hair  wave  or  cease  to  wave  pressed  upon  his 
attention.  But  a  man  whose  nerves  are  unstrung 
has  no  alternative. 

"  More  weather,  sir  !  " 

"Yes,"  said  Gilbert  coldly.  "It  doesn't 
promise  to  be  a  pleasant  day." 

"  It's  what  I  call  a  muggy  morning,"  said  the 
youth,  rubbing  the  soap  into  Gilbert's  chin  and 
looking  across  Holborn  at  a  housemaid  who  was 
cleaning  a  window.  "  That's  what  /  call  it. 
Sort  of  morning  that  any  thing  might  happen. 
Fond  of  being  out  o*  doors,  sir  ?" 

Gilbert  nodded. 

"I  often  wish   I  was  out 'unting,  this  kind  of 


2$  6 


weather,"  said  the  youth,  shaving  Gilbert's  left 
cheek.  "  I'm  a  dabster  on  all  species  of  out- 
door sport,  I  am." 

"Fond  of  following  the  hounds?" 

"Oh,"  said  the  youth  exultantly,  " 'ounds  or 
any  thing  else.  Nothing  comes  amiss  to  me.  I 
often  think  to  myself  when  I'm  a-sittin'  'ere,  and 
there's  no  customer,  and  only  the  old  comic 
papers  to  look  at,  that  I  ought  to  'ave  been  a 
country  gentleman.  I  don't  say  a  M.  P.,  mind 
you,  but — well,  you  know — jest  a  country  gentle- 
man. Might  'old  your  chin  up  a  bit,  sir." 

Gilbert  obeyed. 

"After  all,"  sighed  the  ambitious  youth,  wip- 
ing the  razor  on  the  small  white  cloth  and 
soaping  afresh — "after  all,  though,  it's  no  use 
repining,  as  the  song  has  it.  We  'ave  to  take 
things  as  they  come,  don't  we,  sir?" 

"Generally." 

"And  I  dare  say  I'm  as  'appy  as  a  good  many 
country  gentlemen.  In  my  way,  of  course,  I 
mean.  What  you  'ave  to  do  is  to  make  the 
best  of  your  life,  whatever  it  'appens  to  be. 
You  shave  up,  on  this  side,  I  think,  sir  ? " 

Gilbert  said  "Yes." 

"It  don't  do,"  said  the  youthful  philosopher — 


257 


"  it  don't  do  to  be  too  grasping.  A  young  gentle- 
man friend  of  mine — at  least  I  call  him  a  friend 
of  mine,  but  really  I  don't  know  his  name — he 
looked  in  this  morning  and  had  a  shampoo. 
He's  in  a  solicitor's  office  round  here  in  Lincoln's 
Inn,  and  he  was  saying  his  people  had  got  a 
case  on  at  the  Mansion  'Ouse  to-day  over  some 
people  that  had  been  a  bit  too  anxious  that  way." 
"The  Hip  Hip  Hurrah  Mining  Co." 
"That's  it,  sir;  that's  it.  That's  the  very 
name.  And  this  friend  of  mine  was  saying — 
mind  you,  he  told  me  this  in  confidence — that  it 
would  go  pretty  'ard  on  some  of  'em,  unless  he 
was  greatly  mistaken.  And  it  all  goes  to  prove 
that  what  I  say  is  right,  and — a  little  bay  rum, 
sir  ?  No  !  Pay  the  lady  at  the  counter,  will  you, 
please.  Thank  you,  sir.  Good  morning." 

Gilbert  walked  down  Holborn  into  Newgate 
Street  in  a  semi-dazed  condition  that  made  the 
faces  of  the  people  hurrying  by  appear  blurred 
in  his  sight.  At  any  moment  he  might  feel  a 
hand  on  his  shoulder,  the  hand  of  a  City  detect- 
ive. A  City  detective  is  phis  royaliste  qiie  le  roi — 
more  like  a  City  man  than  any  other  person  in 
the  City — but  it  is,  nevertheless,  not  easy  to 
recognize  him.  The  City  detective  comes  up 
17 


25S 


from  Brixton  in  the  morning  and  hurries  up  to 
the  mysterious  little  office  in  Old  Jewry  with  as 
modest  an  air  as  though  he  dealt  in  trimmings 
instead  of  errant  men. 

"  Come  down  here." 

Gilbert  instinctively  turned  into  a  side  passage 
near  him.  Out  in  Newgate  Street  the  yellow- 
stockinged,  long-gowned,  leather-belted,  bare- 
headed boys  were  hurrying  across  from  Christ's 
Hospital  to  invest  their  savings  in  phantom  food 
at  the  confectioner's.  They  were  all  in  exceed- 
ingly good  spirits,  these  yellow-stockinged  boys, 
and  they  linked  arms,  and  held  a  special  meeting 
in  front  of  the  confectioner's,  debating  the  rela- 
tive merits  of  jam  puffs  at  three-halfpence  eacl 
and  long,  empty,  chocolate-looking  cakes  at 
twopence. 

"What  a  fool  you  are,  Gilbert!  Why  the 
deuce  didn't  you  keep  away  ? " 

It  was  not  a  City  detective,  but  Captain  Dann. 
Captain  Dann  not  quite  so  buoyant,  not  quite  so 
affectionate  in  his  manner  of  pawing;  the  flower 
in  his  coat  was  faded  and  hung  stem  upward  as 
though  anxious  to  make  its  escape. 

"We  all  managed  to  get  bail,"  went  on  Cap- 
tain Dann,  "  but  Heaven  knows  what  is  going  to 


259 


happen  to-day.  I  don't  know  what  the  Treasury 
has  got  up  its  sleeve.  It  seems  a  crying  shame," 
went  on  Captain  Dann  with  a  touch  of  his  early 
manner,  "a  confounded  crying  shame,  sir,  that 
we  rate-payers  should  be  called  upon  to  support 
a  parcel  of  lawyers  down  at  Whitehall,  and  that 
we  should  actually  have  to  pay  for  our  own  prose- 
cution! As  I  said  to  poor  Louisa, — my  wife's 
very  much  cut  up  over  this  affair, — as  I  said,  what 
we  want  and  what  we  must  have  some  day  is, 
Government  by  the  people,  and  for  the  people. 
That's  the  way  I  put  it.  Meanwhile,  we  have  a 
lot  of  these  what  I  call  Tadpole  and  Tapers " 

"  Is  there — is  there  a  warrant  out  against  me  ? " 

"  Oh,  yes  !  Yes;  warrants  have  been  granted 
against  all  the  directors." 

"But,  good  gracious,  man!  /knew  nothing  of 
any  thing  illegal  being  done.  I  was  not  aware " 

"  Now  you  look  here.  I'm  deucedly  sorry 
about  this,  and  although  I  don't  say  you  won't 
perhaps  get  off,  I  want  to  give  you  a  bit  of 
advice.  Get  away  at  once  and  stop  away.  If 
we  pull  through, — the  way  I  put  it  to  Blenkinsop 
was  in  a  nautical  way — I  said  it  must  be  '  All 
hands  to  the  pump,' — why,  then  you  can  come 
back.  If  we  don't,  why,  you  can  stay  away." 


260 


"  I  believe  you  are  not  a  bad  fellow, 
Dann." 

It  is  an  odd  thing  to  chronicle,  but  it  is  a  fact 
that  Captain  Dann's  puffed  eyes  watered  at  this 
guarded  compliment. 

"And  I  sincerely  believe  you  are  sorry  that  I 
am  in  the  mess.  Heaven  knows  /  am.  It  could 
not  have  come  at  a  worse  moment." 

"Any  moment  is  the  worst  for  business  like 
this,"  said  Captain  Dann.  "The  fact  is,  there's 
no  chance  for  honest — I  mean  to  say  enterprising 
— men,  nowadays.  It's  like  carrying  on  business 
in  a  glass  case.  Every-body  is  prepared  to 
pounce  down  upon  you,  and  the  public  prosecutor 
is  nearly  as  bad  as  any  body  else.  I  wonder  how 
they  expect  the  commerce  of  the  empire  to  be 
carried  on,  eh  ?  " 

Gilbert  shook  his  head  wearily  as  one  not 
desirous  of  arguing  the  point. 

"Believe  me,  my  dear  sir,  they'll  work  things 
up  to  such  a  pitch  eventually,  that  it  won't  be 
worth  any  body's  while  to  take  a  threepenny  'bus 
to  the  City.  That  will  be  the  end  of  it.  And 
when  they've  done  that  perhaps  they  will  see 
their  mistake.  It's  all  of  a  piece  of  what  I  call 
the  system  of  grandmotherly  interference  with 


26l 


the  liberty  of  the  subject.  That's  what  I  call  it, 
nothing  more  or  less." 

"The  fact  remains,"  said  Gilbert,  "that  we 
have  to  appear  in  the  dock  at  the  Mansion 
House;  that  we  may  be  committed  for  trial  at 
the  Old  Bailey,  and  a  jury  will  decide " 

"  Trial  by  jury,"  said  Captain  Dann  explo- 
sively, "ought  to  be  abolished.  I've  said  so 
over  and  over  again,  but  nothing  has  been  done. 
I  might  as  well  have  talked  to  a  brick  wall. 
Which  way  are  you  going  ?  I  should  have 
shaved  off  my  mustache,  if  I  had  been  you." 

"I  hope   your  wife  is  well,  Dann?" 

Captain  Dann  put  his  hand  to  his  eyes  in  an 
agitated  way. 

"Sir,"  he  said,  "that  woman  is  a  treasure. 
Ah!  we  men  don't  half  understand  how  much  we 
owe  to  woman."  He  coughed  and  resumed  his 
old  manner.  "  Indeed,  my  dear  sir,  as  I  often 
say,  it  is  a  matter  of  fact  that  when  pain  or — er 
— anguish  or  any  thing  of  that  kind  rack  the 
brow,  why  woman  is,  in  a  manner  of  speaking,  a 
perfect  ministering  angel.  But  I  say  !  What 
are  you  going  to  do  ?  " 

"  I  am  going  to  the  office,  and  I  shall  send  a 
note  to  Old  Jewry  saying  I  am  there,  and  that 


262 


they  have  only  to  send  a  detective  and  I  shall  go 
at  once  with  him " 

"I  thought  you  had  more  sense  than  most 
young  men.  More  caution.  More  of  what  our 
lively  neighbors  across  the  Channel  call  nous." 

"So  did  I." 

"  My  boy," — Captain  Dann  for  the  first  time 
patted  Gilbert's  shoulders, — "  I'm  disappointed 
in  you — in  a  sense.  In  another  sense  I  admire 
your  pluck.  For  my  part,  I  am  going  now  to 
the  Mansion  House.  Sitting  begins  at  half-past 
twelve.  But" — he  lowered  his  voice — "on  the 
steps  of  the  Mansion  House  I  shall  be  seized 
with  a  fainting  fit  and  I  shall  have  to  be  removed 
to  my  home.  That  will  give  me  time  to  look 
round  and  to  see  what  happens  at  the  second 
hearing." 

The  faded  flower  pitched  itself  from  Captain 
Dann's  coat,  head  first  on  to  the  pavement. 

"This  is  not  the  first  time  I've  been  in  a 
hot  corner,"  he  went  on  hesitatingly.  "  The 
dodge  is  to  keep  your  head  as  cool  as  possible. 
Good-by." 

It  was,  in  an  odd  way,  a  relief  to  Gilbert  to 
find  himself  in  the  continuous  lift  at  the  cham- 
bers in  Queen  Victoria  Street.  The  taste  for 


263 


being  arrested  on  the  public  pavement  is  one  not 
easily  acquired,  and  it  certainly  seemed  a  more 
dignified  act  to  summon  the  representative  of 
the  law  to  the  office.  Stepping  out  at  the 
second  floor  and  pushing  the  glass  doors,  Gil- 
bert saw  quickly  that  the  Hip  Hip  Hurrah 
Mining  Co.'s  office  had  discarded  its  aspect  of 
being  extremely  busy.  The  huge  date-case  on 
the  wall  was  two  days  behind  in  the  information 
that  it  offered ;  there  was  dust  on  the  desk,  and 
a  jet  of  gas  flared  furiously  away  in  the  corner, 
where  it  was  not  wanted.  One  clerk  only  re- 
mained in  the  office,  and  he  was  reading  the  front 
page  of  the  Sporting  Times  with  much  enjoyment. 

"  Is  the  chief  clerk  in,  please  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  the  clerk,  without  looking  up. 

"Where  is  he,  then?" 

"Why,  out,"  said  the  clerk. 

The  clerk  laughed  a  little,  not  at  his  own 
remark,  but  at  a  paragraph  in  the  pink  journal 
before  him. 

"  Is  there  no  one  here,  then." 

"Yes,  there  is." 

"Who  then,  please." 

"Why,  me."  The  clerk  looked  up  unwill- 
ingly. He  slipped  off  his  stool  as  soon  as  he 


264 


recognized  Gilbert  and  came  toward  him  with 
a  grin.  "  Beg  pardon,  sir;  didn't  know  it  was 
you." 

*'•  It  is  difficult  to  recognize  people  unless  you 
look  at  them.  Will  you  give  me  a  sheet  of  note- 
paper,  please?  And  an  envelope." 

The  clerk  balanced  the  end  of  a  ruler  on 
his  fore-finger  and  kept  it  there  with  some 
difficulty. 

"  Been  to  Germany,  haven't  you,  sir  ?  There's 
been  a  rare  upset  here  this  week.  Old  Abbot, 
the  chief  clerk,  he  sloped  out  of  it,  and  White 
and  Simpson  and  young  Congreve  are  out  look- 
ing for  berths,  and " 

"Give  me  a  sheet  of  paper  at  once,  sir," 
shouted  Gilbert. 

"Temper!"  said  the  clerk  softly  to  himself  as 
he  complied  with  Gilbert's  demand.  "Temper; 
that's  what  it  is.  Temper  and  bad  luck." 

The  letter  did  not  take  long  to  write.  The 
hand-writing  looked  strangely  unlike  his  usual 
style,  as  he  addressed  the  envelope  shakily: 

"  To  the  Superintendent, 
"  City  Police, 

"Old  Jewry" 


265 


"Will  you  take  this  round  at  once?" 

"But  how  can  I  leave  the  office,  sir  ?  There's 
no  one  here  but  me,  and  if " 

"  I  shall  remain  here.  I  shall  remain  here 
until  you  return  with — with  some  one.  I'll 
answer  the  telephone,  if  it  rings." 

"I  shouldn't,"  said  the  clerk  airily.  "I  let 
'em  ring.  I  know  there's  only  an  argument  of 
some  kind  if  I  do  answer  it,  so  I  just  let  'em  ring 
on.  Same  with  callers.  They've  come  up  these 
last  two  days,  and  one  or  two  of  'em  that  used 
to  come  up  in  the  old  times,  very  cocky  and 
very  haughty  in  their  manners,  I've  given  them 
beans." 

The  clerk  chuckled  at  the  remembrance  of  his 
successful  duels. 

"They  get  quite  as  good  as  they  give  me," 
said  the  clerk  confidently,  "  now  that  the  show's 
gone  over.  I'm  on  the  look-out  for  a  new  berth, 
and  as  soon  as  I  get  one " 

"Please  take  that  letter  at  once.  I  will  wait 
here." 

The  clerk  found  his  hat  reluctantly,  and  made 
a  cigarette  to  smoke  on  his  way  across  the 
Poultry. 

"More  fool   him,"  said  the  clerk  sotto  voce,  as 


266 


he  looked-  at  the  address;  "that's  all  I  can 
say. " 

Left  to  himself,  Gilbert  took  off  his  hat  and 
strode  round  the  office  with  hands  in  pockets. 
The  marble  clock  on  the  wall  ticked  away  con- 
scientiously, and  Gilbert  knew  that  when  it  had 
ticked  about  five  times  sixty,  a  detective  would 
arrive  prepared  to  take  him  to  the'  Mansion 
House.  He  wiped  the  perspiration  from  his 
forehead,  and  his  breath  came  shorter  as  he 
thought  of  his  position.  Only  six  weeks  ago  he 
had  commenced  his  new  life  with  prospects  so 
shining  that  they  had  almost  dazzled  him;  to- 
day he  was  without  a  friend,  without  a  berth, 
without  money,  and  only  four  minutes  and  a  half 
from  arrest.  He  thought  of  Kittle;  he  thought 
of  Bradley  Webbe. 

"  I  don't  seem  to  have  been  an  overpowering 
success,"  he  said  grimly. 

He  took  up  the  clerk's  Sporting  Times,  but  the 
paragraphs  detached  themselves  and  sat  momen- 
tarily on  the  desk,  and  then  dodged  back;  all  in 
a  manner  highly  confusing.  He  took  up  an  old 
copy  of  a  financial  paper,  with  glorious  puffs  of 
the  Hip  Hip  Hurrah  mines,  and  could  not  read 
that. 


267 


"  In  my  anxiety  to  get  on,  I  seem  to  have  come 
off  very  badly.  If  I  were  to  leave  this  life  now, 
not  a  single  person — nor  a  married  person — 
would  regret  my  absence.  I  only  hope  that 
Bradley  Webbe  will  forgive  me  and  that  he'll — 
he'll  marry  Kittie." 

Gilbert  gave  a  big  gulp,  and  bit  his  under-lip 
hard.  But  a  week  since,  at  Coblentz,  the  world 
had  seemed  the  most  delightful  world  that  in- 
genuity could  devise.  A  fortnight  since  he  had 
done  nothing  mean;  nothing  of  which  he  was 
ashamed.  Six  weeks  ago  he  was  Gilbert  Staple- 
hurst,  and 

"  It  is  of  no  use  thinking  about  that,"  he  said 
severely. 

Yet,  for  almost  the  first  time  in  his  new  life 
he  found  himself  thinking  of  the  old  life  that  he 
had  given  up.  Looking  at  it  now,  he  wondered 
what  in  the  world  had  induced  him  to  feel  the 
faintest  shadow  of  discontent  with  his  lot.  He 
had  then  a  charming  wife,  as  much  of  fame  as  is 
good  for  any  man,  a  number  of  friends  whose 
faces  brightened  pleasantly  when  they  saw  him, 
he  had 

"  By  Jove  !  I  wish  to  goodness  I  were  Gilbert 
Staplehurst  again." 


268 


Ting — ting — ting  ! 

"  I  wish  I  had  never  wanted  to  be  young  again. 
I  wish  I  had  never  listened  when " 

Ting — ting — ting  ! 

Half  mechanically  Gilbert  goes  over  to  the 
telephone  and,  pressing  the  knob,  places  the 
tube  to  his  ear. 

"  Hul— lo,  there  !  " 

"Hul— lo  !     Is  that  you?" 

"Of  course  it  is." 

"Gilbert  Staplehurst,  I  mean." 

Gilbert,  suddenly  interested,  speaks  with  ex- 
citement: "I  was  Gilbert  Staplehurst  once.  I 
wish  I  were  Gilbert  Staplehurst  now." 

"That's  what  I  understood  from  your  remarks. 
I  suppose — my  name  is  Jove " 

"  I  know,  I  know  !     Go  on." 

"I  suppose  you  know  that  it  is  impossible  for 
you  to  return  to  your  former  existence." 

"Nothing  is  impossible  to  you,  Jove.  I  recol- 
lect in  an  article  I  wrote  for  the  Contemporary 
about  you,  I  mentioned  that." 

"I  remember,"  says  the  voice  at  the  other 
end.  "I  remember  it  quite  well.  Very  good 
article  it  was,  too." 

"It   wasn't   bad,"   confesses    Gilbert.      "If   I 


26g 


were  only  my  old  self  again,  I  could  do  a  lot  of 
work  like  that." 

A  sound  of  thoughtful  whistling  at  the  other 
end.  Gilbert,  in  a  perfect  agony  of  impatience, 
does  not  dare  to  interrupt. 

"There  isn't  another  person  in  the  world," 
says  the  voice,  "that  I'd  take  two  minutes' 
trouble  about.  But  you,  somehow,  have  always 
been  so  fair-minded " 

"I  have,"  says  Gilbert  feverishly;  "  I  have." 

" — That  if  you're  sure — if  you're  quite  sure 
that  you  want  to  be  Gilbert  Staplehurst 
again " 

"I  do.     Indeed  I  do." 

"It  makes  such  a  muddle  in  the  books,"  com- 
plains the  voice.  "A  lot  of  scratching  out  and 
carrying  forward  and  general  confusion.  I 
really  don't  know  that's  it's  worth  my  while  to 
bother  any  more  about  it." 

"I  do  hope  you  will.  And  please — please 
don't  be  long.  I  may  not  have  an  opportunity 
of  communicating  with  you  again  for  some  time." 

Gilbert  speaks  with  strenuous  earnestness  and 
glances  apprehensively  at  the  ticking  clock  on 
the  green  wall. 

"Oh,  I'm  not  going  to  be  in  a  hurry  over  the 


270 


matter.  You  have  only  yourself  to  blame  for 
the  position  that  you  are  in " 

"I  know,  I  know." 

"And  you  mustn't  suppose  that  I  have  noth- 
ing else  to  do  but  wait  upon  you.  There  are 
other  people  to  be  considered  besides  you.  I 
have  a  great  deal  to  do  in  one  way  and  another, 
and  I  scarcely  know  whether  I  am  justified  in 
spending  so  much  of  my  time  on  one  person." 

"I  should  never  forget  your  great  kindness," 
urges  Gilbert  piteously.  "  If  there  should  ever 
be  any  opportunity  of  taking  your  side  in  the 
public  press " 

"I'll  make  it  hot  for  that  same  public  press 
some  day,  if  it  doesn't  look  out.  I've  seen  some 
most  unfair,  one-sided  attacks  upon  me  in  it  at 
various  times." 

"Not  from  my  pen." 

"No,  no,  I  admit  that.  You  have  always 
been  very  impartial.  If  it  had  not  been  for  that, 
I  should  never  have  done  all  that  I  did  for  you." 

"I  wish  you  hadn't,"  muttered  Gilbert. 

"You  think  it  over,"  says  the  voice.  "It's 
very  likely  that  your  mind  is  not  fully  made  up." 

"But  it  is.  It  is  made  up.  And  there  is 
really  no  time  to  lose,  Jove.  If  you  only  knew 


how  important  time  was,  you  wouldn't  hesitate 
a  moment.  Do — do  put  me  back  into  my  former 
life,  and  let  every  thing  go  on  as  though  this  had 
not  happened." 

"But  how  about  Kittie  Reade  and  Mrs.  Brent- 
ford and  Bradley  Webbe,  and " 

"I'm  afraid,"  confesses  Gilbert,  "that  they 
will  not  be  sorry  to  lose  sight  of  me." 

The  voice  at  the  other  end  hums  an  air  in  a 
reflective,  thoughtful  way. 

"As  a  special  case,"  pleads  Gilbert  with  much 
anxiety — "as  a  special  case,  you  won't  mind  the 
trouble." 

"What  I  want  made  perfectly  clear  is,"  says 
the  voice  deliberately,  "that  no  one  to  whom 
you  tell  all  this  must  expect  to  be  treated  in  the 
same  way.  It  would  be  a  nice  look-out  if  we 
had  to  keep  on  chopping  and  changing." 

"  I  will  particularly  impress  it  upon  them." 

"  And  you  won't  want  to  change  again?  You 
won't  be  asking " 

"Never,  never,  never"  declares  Gilbert  with 
intense  excitement. 

There  is  a  sound  of  footsteps  outside.  A 
voice  asks  if  this  is  the  office,  and  the  clerk 
answers  that  this  is  the  shop.  The  clerk  adds 


272 


a  remark  to  the  effect  that  he  wonders  whether 
the  young  geeser  is  still  there.  The  other  man 
says  that  he  should  rather  hope  so. 

"All  right,"  remarks  the  voice  at  the  other 
end  of  the  telephone  reluctantly,  "but  mind 
you,  only  this  once." 


CHAPTER  XVI 

GILBERT  STAPLEHURST  opened  the  door  of  his 
study  in  Cheyne  Gardens  and  walked  in.  There 
was  a  scent  of  home  about  the  room,  made  up  of 
a  faint  suggestion  of  his  favorite  cigarettes,  a 
more  decided  contribution  from  the  box  of 
mignonette  outside  the  window.  He  sank  down 
into  his  big  chair  and  swung  half  round  in  it 
with  a  feeling  of  the  most  profound  relief. 

"  Thank  goodness  !  "  he  exclaimed  fervently. 

A  small  Mont  Blanc  of  white  letters  and  cards 
stood  on  the  table,  and  crossing  his  legs  con- 
tentedly, Gilbert  took  an  avalanche.  The 
checks  he  stuffed  into  a  drawer  to  receive 
attention  at  his  leisure, — checks  are  a  deplora- 
ble nuisance  to  busy  literary  men, — the  news- 
paper cuttings  he  glanced  at  and  tore  up.  Many 
of  these  referred  to  his  brief  speech  at  the 
Nomadic  dinner,  and  some  gave  with  the  candor 
of  the  minor  press  those  highly  important  details 
in  regard  to  small  matters  that  are  nowadays 
apparently  indispensable. 
18 


274 


"Mr.  Gilbert  Staplehurst  takes  much  care  in 
regard  to  his  personal  appearance  and  is  usually 
very  correct.  Why,  then,  he  should  have  allowed 
the  tape  of  his  dress-tie  to  stick  up  at  the  back 
of  his  collar  is  one  of  those  things  that  give  the 
thoughtful  pause." 

And  another: 

"  Mr.  Gilbert  Staplehurst  is  a  man  of  many 
talents,  but  he  can't  orate.  Still,  he  made  a 
sincere,  almost  touching,  little  speech  with  in 
one  place  des  larmes  dans  la  voix,  as  our  Paris 
colleagues  might  phrase  it." 

Gilbert  took  up  the  morning  paper  which  lay 
folded  on  the  side  of  the  bookcase  and  looked 
eagerly  at  the  date.  It  was  quite  true,  then. 
Five  minutes  ago  he  was  in  the  Mansion  House 
Chambers  expecting  arrest  and  now  he  was — at 
home. 

It  made  him  pale  to  think  how  near  he  had 
been  to  serious  disaster  and  how  extremely  for- 
tunate he  had  been  to  have  just  escaped  it. 
Really  he  had  little  to  complain  of.  He  had  had 
an  experience  more  novel  than  falls  to  the  lot  of 


275 


most  men,  and  if  he  could  have  had  the  satisfac- 
tion of  feeling  that  he  had  done  some  good 
either  to  himself  or  to  others  during  the  last  six 
weeks,  there  would  have  been  few  grounds  for 
regret.  He  went  to  the  book-case  and  took  out 
his  Dickens  and  his  Thackeray, — for  Gilbert 
Staplehurst  belonged  to  the  stalwarts, — and 
glanced  affectionately  at  the  volumes.  It 
pleased  him,  too,  to  see  the  row  of  his  own 
novels  again. 

"Be  it  ever  so  comfortable,"  he  said  good- 
temperedly,  "there's  no  place  like  home." 

The  voice  of  Martha  came  to  his  ears.  That 
excellent  servant  was  ascending  slowly  the 
stairs,  chasing  the  hours  with  shrill  melody. 

"  '  Roaming  roaming,  over  the  stormy  sea, 

Sails  my  loved  one,  coming  back  'ome  to  me. 
My  'eart  goes  out  to  greet  him,  some  day  I'll 

surely  meet  him. 
Till  then  my  cry '  " 

She  suddenly  stopped  and  called  over  the 
banisters  to  cook,  far  below.  It  sounded  like  a 
ventriloquial  entertainment. 

"Co— ok!" 

"  Now  begin  again,"  answered  the  far-off 
voice  of  cook. 


276 


"What '11  you  bet  the  guv'nor  don't  come 
home  before  mistress  ?  " 

"What '11  I  bet?" 

"Yes,  what  '11  you  bet.  They've  both  been 
away  six  weeks  and  mistress  is  due  this  evening, 
and  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  the  guv'nor  hadn't  ar- 
ranged so's  to  be  home  just  about  the  same  time. " 

Cook,  below,  took  a  few  minutes  to  consider 
the  wager. 

"I  shouldn't  mind  betting,"  called  out  cook, 
"but  I  always  lose." 

"Well,"  said  Martha  argumentatively,  "some 
one  must  lose." 

"Yes,"  said  the  voice  of  cook,  "but  it  needn't 
always  be  me.  How  long  do  you  reckon  before 
mistress  '11  be  'ere  ?  " 

"Not  more  than  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  perhaps 
less." 

"Well,  I've  got  work  to  do,"  cried  cook;  "  it 
won't  do  for  me  to  stand  here  shouting  to  you 
all  the  blessed  day  long." 

"But  touching  this  bet?"  urged  Martha  per- 
sistently, "  what  d'  you  say  ?  Let's  have  a  little 
bit  of  a  flutter.  Make  it  threepence  or  three 
pennyworth  of  ribbon — or  something." 

"  I'll   lay   you,"    said    the  far-away   voice   of 


277 


sportive  cook — "I'll  lay  you  a  bottle  of  that 
New  Mown  'Ay  scent  that  the  grocer  sells,  that 
mistress  is  'ome  first." 

"  Done  with  you,"  cried  Martha  approvingly; 
"  and  the  one  that  loses  has  to  pay." 

Martha  took  up  her  song  conscientiously  at 
the  point  she  had  left  it  : 

"  ' — must  always  be 
Remember  me,  darling  Jim. 
For  its  roaming,  roaming  over  the ' 

"  I  beg  pardon.     I  beg  your  pardon,  sir.     I  had 

• 
no  idea  you  was  here.     I  didn't  hear  you  come  in. " 

"  Didn't  you  ?  "  said  Gilbert.  He  was  reading 
a  telegram  from  his  wife,  handed  in  at  South- 
ampton. 

"  I  wonder  I  didn't  hear  the  hall-door  shut," 
remarked  Martha  curiously.  "As  a  rule  I'm 
very  quick  of  hearing.  The  page  boy  has  gone 
out,  sir.  He's  learning  a  bicycle,  and  he  comes 
home  from  the  Embankment  not  fit  to  be  seen." 

"  There  has  been  no  letter  from  Mrs.  Staple- 
hurst?  " 

"No,  sir.  Cook  had  a  telegraph  message  the 
same  time  as  yours  came,  telling  her  what  to  do, 
and  cook  nearly  danced  with  joy  when  it  arrived. 
It's  been  a  bit  lonely  here  all  to  ourselves." 


278 


"I'll  see  that  you  are  well  paid." 

"Thank  you,  sir.  I'm  sure,  if  it  hadn't  been 
for  Arthur  knocking  himself  about  so  over  his 
bicycle,  we  shouldn't  have  had  any  thing  to  pass 
the  time  away.  He's  a  caution,  that  lad.  Me 
and  cook  have  looked  out  in  the  papers  to  see 

• 

if  we  could  find  where  you  were  got  to,  sir,  but 
none  of  them  seemed  to  say." 

"  Perhaps  they  did  not  know." 

"  There  isn't  much  the  newspapers  miss,  sir," 
replied  Martha  confidently.  "  The  evening 
papers  especially.  *  They  do  get  hold  of  some 
startlers.  Did  you  take  a  portmanteau  with 
you,  sir  ? " 

"No,  Martha." 

"I  thought  not,"  said  Martha  triumphantly. 
"That  makes  another  twopence  I've  won 
from Beg  your  pardon,  sir  ?  " 

"  Mrs.  Staplehurst  will  be  here  in  a  few 
minutes,  if  the  train  keeps  its  time.  Will  you 
and  cook  see  about  something  to  eat?" 

"With  pleasure,  sir.  I  hope  you've  had  a  nice 
time  while  you've  been  away,  sir  ? " 

"It's  been — er — a  little  mixed,  Martha.  Many 
people  called  ? " 

"A  fair  number,  sir.     The  cards  are  there,  on 


279 

the  silver  tray.  I  told  them  all  that  you  had 
gone  abroad.  Was  that  right,  sir?" 

"Yes.     I — I've  been  abroad." 

l'  We've  been  almost  expecting,  sir,  if  you'll 
excuse  me  for  saying  so,  that  you  would  have 
dropped  us  a  line." 

"Well,"  said  Gilbert  pleasantly,  "  I  was  quite 
sure  that  the  house  was  perfectly  safe  with  you 

and  with  cook." 

f 

Martha  went  down  stairs  flushed  with  the  com- 
pliment which  she  was  to  halve  with  cook;  intent 
also  on  collecting  the  wagers.  In  the  hall  the 
bell  rang,  followed  by  a  quick  little  rat-tat  at  the 
brass  knocker. 

"Ah,  Martha!     I'm  back  again." 

"  So  pleased  to  see  you,  ma'am." 

"  Every  thing  gone  on  well  ?  " 

"  Yes,  every  thing,  ma'am.  Master  is  upstairs 
in  his  study,  and " 

Mrs.  Staplehurst  went  quickly  up  the  thickly 
carpeted  stairs. 

In  less  time  than  might  have  been  imagined  she 
was  kissing  her  husband  and  he  was  kissing  her. 

"  My  dear,  dear  Gilbert!  It  has  seemed  like 
years  since  we  said  good-by  to  each  other  at 
Paddington." 


280 


"  It  seems  a  good  long  while  to  me,  dear." 

"And  you  have  been  away,  I  hope?  You're 
looking  so  well.  The  change  has  done  you  good, 
I  can  see." 

"It  certainly  has  done  me,"  acknowledged 
Gilbert,  "  a  lot  of  good." 

"You  must  tell  me  all  about  it." 

"  I  would  rather  listen  to  you,  Alice.  Has  the 
voyage  improved  your  mother's  health  ?" 

"She  is  so  much  better,  Gilbert.  And  you 
know  I  didn't  want  to  go  at  first,  but  now  that 
it's  over  I'm  glad  I  went.  It's  pleasant  to  feel 
that  one  has  performed  a  good  action,  and  has 
done  something  valuable  for  other  people. 
Isn't  it?" 

"  I  think  it  must  be,  dear.  I  am  afraid, 
though,  I  have  had  no  personal  experience  of 
that  during  the  past  six  weeks.  I've  been 
entirely  selfish." 

"And   it  has  answered  well?" 

"My  dear  madam,"  said  Gilbert  comically; 
he  took  her  chin,  and  looked  down  into  her 
good,  brown  eyes,  "I  will  not  deceive  you. 
It  has  failed  utterly." 

"Good!"  cried  his  wife.  "I  dare  say  you 
wanted  to  write  to  me,"  she  went  on  vivaciously, 


2Sl 


"but  of  course  it  wasn't  possible.  We  just  had 
two  days  at  Cape  Town  and  then  caught  the 
Scot  back.  If  only  you  had  been  there " 

"I  almost  wish   I   had,  dear." 

"Still,  you  have  managed,  I  expect,  to  get 
some — what  is  it  you  call  it? — some  'copy.' 
You  generally  do,  wherever  you  go.  What  shall 
you  write  about  it  ?  " 

She  looked  up  admiringly  at  her  husband,  and 
stroked  his  short  beard. 

"  I'm  afraid,"  said  Gilbert  thoughtfully,  "  that 
even  if  I  were  to  write  about  it,  folk  might  say 
that  it  didn't  sound  true." 

"  I'm  very  much  mistaken  in  you,  sir,  if  you 
don't  make  it  of  some  use." 

"I  think — I  think  it  is  sure  to  prove  of  use 
to  me." 

"You  met  some  nice  people,  I  hope." 

"I  met,"  said  Gilbert  guardedly,  "some 
exceedingly  pleasant  people." 

"And  I  am  sure  they  were  very  pleased  to 
meet  you.  Weren't  they  all  sorry  to  say 
good-by  ? " 

"I  don't  remember  any  case  of  wailing  and 
teeth-gnashing  for  the  moment,  dear.  In  fact  I 
can't  help  thinking  that  they  were  all  a  little 


282 


relieved  to  miss  me.  It's  difficult  to  say  for  cer- 
tain, of  course,  but  I  can't  persuade  myself  that 
my  existence  was  absolutely  indispensable  to  any 
of  them." 

"  It  is  to  me,  Gilbert." 

He  bowed  with  an  assumption  of  great  court- 
liness. She  laughed  and  courtesied  low. 

"It's  very  absurd  for  staid,  middle-aged 
people  like  ourselves,"  she  said,  "to  be  still 
complimenting  each  other." 

"  It's  a  habit,  Alice,  that  grows  on  one  some- 
times. And  when  the  wife  is  so  delightful, 
and " 

"I  must  go  upstairs  and  change,"  said  Mrs. 
Staplehurst  quaintly. 

"Stay  just  one  moment,  dear.  I  think  I 
never  before  realized  how  happily  I  was  situated. 
I  think  that  I  see  now  how  much  I  have  to  be — 
to  be  thankful  for." 

"If  you  are  not  very  careful,"  said  his  wife 
warningly,  "you  will  pay  me  another  compliment." 

"I  declare,"  said  Gilbert,  "that  I  could  say 
nothing  more  kind  to  you,  dear,  than  you 
deserve.  And  I  want  you  to  believe  that  I'm 
very  glad  to  be  home  again,  and  to  be  with  you, 
and  to " 


283 


"  I  thought  before  I  left,  Gilbert,"  said  his 
wife,  taking  off  her  bonnet  and  preparing  to  go 
upstairs  to  her  dressing-room,  "  that  you  were 
becoming — becoming  un peu  mecontent" 

"I  am  not  to  be  beaten  by  a  mere  wife,"  said 
Mr.  Staplehurst  genially,  "in  the  use  of  a 
foreign  tongue.  I  beg,  therefore,  to  state  (also 
in  the  language  of  France)  that  I  have  arrived  by 
experience  at  this  conclusion:  Si  on  if  a  ce  gu' 
Von  aime,  il  faut  aimer  ce  gu1  I' on  a." 

"  Not  a  bad  quotation,  that." 

The  gong  sounded  down  stairs;  Mrs.  Staple- 
hurst  hurried  away  to  her  room. 

"It  is  one,"  said  Gilbert  Staplehurst,  "that  I 
shall  try  to  remember." 


THE   END. 


3  1158  00945  7135 


A  000  130  557 


